


An Innocent Hobby

by 2W_NikiAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Combeferre & Enjolras Platonic Life Partners, Combeferre & Enjolras are roommates, Confussed straight Combeferre, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Established Enjolras/Grantaire, Established Relationship, Friendship, Hand Jobs, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Male Friendship, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Porn Watching, Porn With Plot, Roommates, Sex Tapes, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2W_NikiAngel/pseuds/2W_NikiAngel
Summary: He knew all this was wrong—A brunette with a beautiful crow tattoo over half his back and right shoulder, kneeling in front of the bed, his hand touched his partner’s bare belly. The other one was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands tightly tied behind his back, his cheeks red from excitement. “Do you want more, Enjolras?” The blond boy tried to say something, but only a deep, throat groan came from his mouth when all of his cock get into his partner’s mouth. “Oh God, Grantaire,” he whispered so softly that it was hard to hear him.—but he didn’t know how to stop.Everything started year and half ago.[Český originální text/Czech original]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), background - Combeferre/Original Female Character(s), implied - Enjolras/Grantaire/Combeferre
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	An Innocent Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> It’s here - I’m publishing my first explicit fanfiction! I’m one of those writers who write explicit scenes only 1) when it somehow moves the story further (usually changes the character or the act itself is somehow important) or 2) the story itself is erotic (and I admit that I’m working on Enjolras / Grantaire dom/sub explicit chaptered fanfic right now. I'm going to release it at the end of the summer.). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story! I will be very glad for any feedback.
> 
> PS: The opportunity to apply on [[Birthday fanfictions project](https://2wnikiangel.tumblr.com/post/190645365922/birthday-fanfictions-project)] ends on 4.4, don't be afraid to write! So far I have only one request from my best friend and ... well ... I would like to write more?

Combeferre get inside his apartment, closed the door and leaned against them. He closed his eyes and sighed. Today was way more exhausted that he wanted. He knew from the beginning that practice in hospital wouldn’t be easy, but he never imagined being more exhausted from adult patients than from children. When he decided to joint the children’s ward in his second year, he always returned home tired but happy. Although most of the children were weak from fever, clogged with sweat, tears and snots; they always smiled at him and on their last visit, when they were healthy already, they always brought him a drawing or some sweets as a goodbye. „Kids really loves you!“ Joly commented his stories and felt even more depressed by his practice with eye surgeon who was arrogant as much as his patients. When he got his practice on emergency, he knew how hard that would be. But he never imagined that the worst thing he would be dealing with, would be arrogance and mood of the people. Combeferre caught himself wondering if medicine was really what he was born for.

He sighed again, kicked his shoes to the door, threw the packback into the corner of the room and walked into the bathroom. He washed his face with cold water and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for two weeks. He felt the same way. He hid circles under his eyes thank to his glasses. He was at the barber’s last month and half, so his hair was a little thicker than normal. He looked at least three years older. 

Combeferre leaned against the sink and closed his eyes for a moment. He took a few deep breaths. He knew it will take him only two weeks before coming back to school. He never though he would look forward to exams more than to work in hospital.

“Hi!“ Combeferre jumped, opened his eyes and turned sharply. Enjolras suddenly appeared in the doorway with two plastic boxes in hand. Enjolras smiled at him and picked up the boxes a little higher. “Dinner?“

“Yes please,” Combeferre said exhaustively. He didn’t even realize how much hungry he was until he could smell the delicious smell and his stomach growled. Together with Enjolras he sat down at the table in their little kitchen.

“I hope you have mood for some piece of Italy,” Enjolras said as he started to put food from the boxes on the plates. The scent of pasta, parmesan, tomatoes and pinch of garlic echoed through the room. Combeferre’s stomach rumbled again.

“I would eat dry sole after today and wouldn't mind.”

“Was today so bad again?” Enjolras asked as he sat across him.

“I don’t know if the pretty girl so sure she have a bowel cancer was worse than one pensioner who was dying of a heart attack and was almost breathing.”

“That sounds pretty serious.”

“Stunned farts and well-learned ascent to get pills for his high pressure, because he didn’t want to go to his doctor again.”

“It’ll go better, you will see,” Enjolras tried to calm him a little bit.

“I know,” Combeferre said with a smile. “It just annoys me that I have to repeat myself quite often lately that I really want to do this job.”

“I totally understand you,” Enjolras said, remembering his first law practice with Dr. Marc. He always shivered when he remembered his tobacco breath, tasteless jokes and a mess among all the customers’ papers.

“At least you brought such delicious food. It gives me another reason to live.”

“I’m glad,” Enjolras laughed at his comment. “Grantaire made it.”

“I didn’t know he could cook,” Combeferre said. “I was surprised when you started gained weight lately. Now I can see why.”

“Watch your mouth!” Enjolras shouted angrily and kicked Combeferre’s foot under the table. He just laughed and continued to eat. Enjolras looked at him for a moment, then swallowed loudly. “How tired are you for a serious conversation?”

Combeferre looked at him and frowned slightly. Enjolras was looking into his plate, he was nudging the food with his fork, and his eyes was focused on the table. He breathed a little slower and swallowed dry. Combeferre knew this look. He saw it a couple of times already. Enjolras was nervous. “Always ready.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said to himself. He took a deep breath and looked at Combeferre. His eyes were full of hope. “I want to make another move in my relationship with Grantaire.” Enjolras smiled and said enthusiastically, “I want to live with him.” Combeferre’s eyes widened. “No, don’t worry,” Enjolras said, smiling as he noticed his frightened look. “Not there. I’ve found an absolutely wonderful apartment. It’s not the biggest or cheapest, and there is only one good café in the neighborhood, but I think that will be enough for the start. I’ve been there twice already and I’ve always leave excited. I think Grantaire will be too. I’ll tell him this weekend, after he return from Berlin. Not between the doors, of course. I’ve already planned it. Cinema, dinner, and for a dessert a keys - for  _ our  _ apartment.” Enjolras bit his lips. He controled himself not to smile too much or talk too fast. “What do you think?” He asked with hope. 

Combeferre sat there, with mouth slightly open, his eyes wide. His skin was a little whiter, the circles under his eyes became more visible, and few drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. He barely breathed and held the fork so weak it seemed to fall to the ground any moment. He looked as if someone had just confessed to murder.

His silence made Enjolras nervous. “It’s s—”

“What?” Combeferre asked quietly as he finally found his voice. 

Enjolras blinked and took a deep breath. “If you’re afraid that I would stop paying my rent right away, I thought about it. I’ll pay until you find a new roommate—”

“Once again.”

“When you find a new roomm—”

“No this, the thing about the apartment?”

“That I found new one?”

“And why?”

“To live there with Grantaire?”

“So I heard right?”

Enjolras frowned. “What do you mean?”

Combeferre set the plate aside. He leaned his elbows on the table and took a deep breath. “You want to live with Grantaire.” Enjolras just nodded. “And you don’t see  _ anything _ wrong with it?” Enjolras leaned his back in chair, straightened, tensed his chest, and crossed his arms. Combeferre knew this attitude very well. He was preparing for argument. “Don’t take me wrong, you know, I try to support you in everything you do. But do you really think it’s a good idea to start living together?”

“And why would that be a bad idea?” Enjolras’ voice was suddenly cold.

“Do you understand you will be still together?”

“Of course.”

“Enjolras, all the time,” Combeferre said a little roughly. “You'll wake up, he will lie next to you. You’ll be making some food, he’s will be in the same room. You’ll want to take a bath, but you’ll find that he’s already there and you’ll have to wait. You come home from work, he’ll be at home already. His stuff will be everywhere.”

“And that’s a good things, he’s my partner,” Enjolras said gruffly, frowning a little.

“You really think so?”

“Can you stop with the  _ really _ ?” Enjolras heard his voice rise. He felt his hands begin to shake. Adrenaline began to rise in his body. He didn’t want to argue with him. Instead, he dug his fingers into his biceps and tightened his lips. “I’m not a kid,” he said between his teeth. “I know what I want from my life and my next step is to start living with my boyfriend as a couple, not two people who get together on a weekend occasion.”

“It works, why to change it?”

“I want to move on in our relationship, that’s normal.”

“It’s normal if you’re with your lover for a long time and you start planning the future together. Do you plan it with him?”

“Would you be surprised if I say yes?”

“In fact - yes.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not,” Combeferre said seriously, clenching his fists. “Are you two talking about what will you do when you both work? How will you take care of the household? What your goals for the next five years are? Do you both agree on the important things?”

“Why are you so interested in our relationship?”

“Because I want you both to be happy.”

“It seems to me that you don’t even want us to be together.”

“It just feels stupid to start living together after such a short time.”

“We’ve known each other for five years.”

“But you’ve only been dating for a year!”

“A year and half!” Enjolras took deep breath, exhaled, trying to calm the pounding heart. “You know what, we’ll figure it out when we’re both a little calmer, okay? Now I would—”

“Are you running out from a argument?” Enjolras paused, Combeferre grinned. “This will happen to you quite often. You two loves arguing. Perhaps you should get used to it.”

“Do you think I would stay in a relationship where I'm not happy?”

“I just know you’ll do everything to make the people around you happy.”

Enjolras frowned again. “Do you think Grantaire forces me to do that?”

“It wouldn't be the first time you did something just for him.”

The room fall into silence. Combeferre swallowed. He didn’t realize how dry his throat was. Enjolras looked at him. The throbbing vein on his neck revealed how hard his heart was pounding. If someone else was sitting across him, he would start arguing already. But Combeferre was confused by his look in the face. He looked — disappointed? 

“Honestly, I was hoping for a slightly difference response.”

“Did you think I would jump a meter high from happiness?”

“ _ Congratulation _ would be fine.”

“For what? To voluntarily try to destroy your relationship?”

“What did you  _ just _ say?” Enjolras said, his lips tight.

“You know how both you are. You can’t stay in one room, let alone in one apartment. You’ll both kill each other within a month. It looks like you’re trying to boycott your relationship.”

“Just as  _ you _ boycott him from the beginning?” Enjolras asked him hurtfully. That surprised Combeferre.

“I never—”

“You know what, let’s stop there. We don’t need to talk about it,” Enjolras said, standing up. He went into the hallway, put on his boots and coat, slung his school bag over his shoulder and opened the main door. “I’ll sleep at Feuillys’.” He slammed the door and left.

“Idiot,” Combeferre said, exhaling deeply. He didn’t even know he was holding his breath. He glanced before him, where Enjolras been sitting a minute ago. He could still felt his warmth and smell. Combeferre swallowed dry, took his plate and signed. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He threw the rest of the food in the trash, placed dirty dishes into the kitchen sink and went to his room.

His room was all white. There was only the most needed things - a bed with light blue sheets; a table with computer; bookshelf with medical books and some historical fictions; a nightstand, where he hid gold necklace he got from his mother when he went to Paris for university, as a talisman for good studies, and digital alarm clock on them. His room was just like him. Conservative and orderly. He always thought that people would learn the most about person by entering their room. The way they decorated room; whether they lives in chaos or needs order in everything; whether they prefers warm or cold colors; it tells more about them than their voices. 

Combeferre picked up one medical book about kids diseased and lay down on his bed. He needed to think about something else.

After an hour, he put the book down. He looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was ten minutes after eight in the evening. He sighed. He took his cellphone and decided to answer all of the messages that were waiting for him.

After two unsuccessful online games in Couter Strike Mobile, fifteen answered messages and blocking Courfeyrac’s facebook profile, because he send him meme’s every two minutes; he looked at the alarm again. It was almost ten. Enjolras didn’t return home and even didn’t reply any of his messages. He wanted to call him, but the worm in his head whispered to him that he  _ hadn’t said anything wrong _ . 

He rolled to his left side, looked through the open window at the lighted Eiffel Tower. He loved the view. He always felt calm looking at the lit lights around her metal structure. He liked how beautifully she towered over Paris. But today her light was unpleasantly burning his eyes.

He closed his eyes. He knew very well why he didn’t like the idea of Enjolras moving out. And to admit it was perhaps even worse than arguing with him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He still saw Enjolras’s gaze - enthusiastic when he told him the news; disappointed when he left. They didn’t have the same opinion on everything, but they always managed to respect each other and not argue over not important things. This was after a long time they had a fight. Not the worst by any way, but his heart still hurted a little. 

He sighed. He won’t have easy sleep today. He needed to relax.

He lay on his back, opened his eyes and took his cellphone in hand again. It was almost eleven in evening. Time without Enjolras ran fast, but every minute his heart hurted a little bit more. He wanted to call him and plead him to come back. He might even be able to apologize, then they would have a tea together as they did every night before bed. He sighed again.

“There’s only one thing you can do now,” he told himself. He did that whenever there was too much pressure in his life. Everytime he felt that his emotions were stronger than his rational thinking. “This will help you.” He got up from bed, went to get notebook, pulled out a blue usb from desk, and lay back in bed. He logged into his account, plugged the usb into the port, and clicked on the game folder. He clicked through several folders with no files, just more and more folders. When he reached the last one, a password-prompt window popped up immediately. His heart pounded. His fingers started shaking. His mouth was dry. He cleared his throat, quickly tapped a few words into the line, and several video files appeared in front of him. He began to shake his feet nervously. His eyes flickered between several videos until he chose the one called “SWITCH”. The video started playing immediately. He pushed the notebook to the edge of the bed, lay back on bed, put a small pillow filled with lemon balm under his head — he got it from Joly, he told him it will help him with sleeping — and turned his head so he could see the screen. He lay there for a moment until one of his hand moved to hem of his trousers, which slowly became tighter. 

He exhaled deeply. His heart was pounding so fast, he felt, it would pop up from his chest any minute. He had never been so nervous. Since puberty he knew that the only way for him to relax was masturbation. It helped his worst moments — during exams, after tough hours in works, after stressful situations. Only after he had completely relaxed, he could think logically again. As if all the bad feelings choking him a little, washed away from his body. He felt energized again. Everyone had their own mechanism to “work properly again”. Joly went climbing; Bahorel went fishing; Bossuet went to karaoke bar; Marius closed himself in his room with metal music he hated normally; Courfeyrac went to have one-night stand on bar; Jehan bought new books; Grantaire met a bunch of his old friends from hometown and Enjolras took a long, hot, bubble tube and drank wine. Combeferre had this. 

But, after some time, his taste changed. Where once he had tall, blond girl with not so handsome, but pretty dominant man; he needed something else today — more aesthetic, better, more real, and  _ forbidden _ . He knew what that what he was doing was stupid. He knew that what made him so horny, wasn’t right. He knew that if anyone ever found out, they would immediately turn their backs on him. 

There was loud groan from the speakers. Only now did he realize he had forgotten to take his headphones. But before he started worry about it, both of the actors moved to a better angle, and Combeferre stopped thinking about how bad it was. He touched himself, moaning gently, keeping his eyes on the screen.

He knew all this was wrong—

_ A brunette with a beautiful crow tattoo over half his back and right shoulder, kneeling in front of the bed, his hand touched his partner’s bare belly. The other one was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands tightly tied behind his back, his cheeks red from excitement. “Do you want more, Enjolras?” The blond boy tried to say something, but only a deep, throat groan came from his mouth when all of his cock get into his partner’s mouth. “Oh God, Grantaire,” he whispered so softly that it was hard to hear him. _

—but he didn’t know how to stop.

\---

Everything started year and half ago. If Combeferre hadn’t lived with Enjolras, he would probably missed all that little changes in his behavior. But as he spent several hours a day with him, he noticed how often new messages clinked in his cellphone; he had seen him take a selfie few times, which was strange, because he hated them; he looked into the mirror more often, mostly to adjusting his shirts to look tight and good on him; he went home later, sometimes even in the morning. He smiled more, seemed relaxed, sometimes more immersed in his thoughts than usual. 

“Hey, did you all noticed how strange Grantaire is?” Bahorel asked their group of friends after another meeting in café Musain, when Grantaire went out for a smoke. 

“You noticed too?” Feuilly asked. “I’ve been watching him for a some time now.”

“What are you talking about?” Courfeyrac asked curiously, pushing his chair a little closer to Feuilly.

“Well, he’s a bit more polite at meetings, doesn’t disturb so much, he talks a little quieter.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s  _ somewhere else _ in his head,” Joly said with a smile on his face. “Every time I ask him about anything, he has no idea what I’m talking about. Like he wasn’t listening at all.”

“Exactly,” Bossued agreed. “Like he is thinking about something. Or better -  _ someone _ .”

Combeferre looked at his friends closely, frowned a little. Grantaire behaved the same way as—

“Someone?” Enjolras asked, finishing his latté.

“Oh my god,” Jehan said and shutted his book dramatically. His eyes went wide with excitement and screamed so high, that it made the dog at the end of the street bark. “He  _ have _ someone!”

“Grantaire? He’s against relationships,” Courfeyrac said.

“But, you know, that would be the only one logical explanation,” Bossuet agreed with Jehan. “He don’t have time for me and Joly anymore. He’s always busy on nights. We thought that maybe he have some big project for exams. But nothing. We went to his apartment, but he wasn’t there. He - the one who only goes to school, bars and home. He started to disappearing.”

“I was worried back then,” Joly started. “You know what he can do, when he’s at bad state. So I went to school for him one day. He was surprised, but happy. We went to school cafferia, drank some coffee, have good talk actually.” Joly smiled and ran his hand through his restless hair. “But Jehan is right, he met someone.”

“Do you know who?” Jehan asked curiously.

“Unfortunately, no,” Joly said. “But I’m curious too. He seems like a good guy.”

“Why do you think so?” Enjolras asked.

“He have pretty good influence on him,” Joly said and smiled a little more. “I don’t know who’s this guy, but the way Grantaire talk about him, made me almost fall in love with him too. He’s kind, nice, clever, loves animals, they likes the same movies, he does a great back massage and is quite handsome.”

“Grantaire always had a good taste,” Bahorel said as he arranged images of Grantaire’s ex partners in his head. Most of them were charming, the other unnaturally beautiful. Bahorel always envied him a little. Grantaire never told him how he managed to get together with such charismatic boys.

“You think?” Enjolras asked Bahorel who only nodded. 

“But the most important thing - they really like each other. I can see it. He’s acting a little differently. He’s relaxed, happier. I’m really happy for him. He deserves that. Finally, someone normal. For all the things he went through, it’s like a gift for him.” Courfeyrac just grunted and started to think about how Grantaire’s new  _ boyfriend _ looks like. “They could just write each other little less. He would have cell phone instead of his hand, not kidding!”

Combeferre stopped listening. The only thing he cared about was face of his best friend. Enjolras grinned slightly during the conversation and turned pink. When they stopped talking about the topic, he ordered another latte, smiled broadly. Before Grantaire returned, Enjolras pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped something fast. In a moment Grantaire came back, his face was as pink as Enjolras’s, sitting down with Joly and just smiled. He seemed like he know what they were talking about.

Combeferre wasn’t stupid. Quite quickly he realized what was going on. He tried to talk with Enjolras that evening. He stood outside the door to his room, but changed his mind. Both were adults. They knew very well what they were doing. And if he doesn’t want to talk about it now, and Grantaire doesn’t seem to be either; he would wait.

But he didn’t have to wait long. After two months Enjolras made an emergency meeting at the café Musain, at weekend, in the evening. It was suspicious, and everyone knew it was going to be something serious. They all arrived in advance. When Enjolras appeared in the door, everyone was ready to ask him what was going on; but none of them said them when they saw Enjolras walking into the café with Grantaire - with holding hands, pink faces, looking nervous. They were about to say something, but Joly jumped from his seat and tried to embrace them both, shouted loudly: “I knew it!” When he finally released them, they both sat side by side and calmly answered their questions.

When Combeferre arrived at their apartment that night, he realized, he didn’t ask them anything. He sat down on the couch and turned on the news. He didn’t pay much attention to it. He kept thinking about those two. It didn’t bother him that they were both boys, hell - half of their group were gays -, Grantaire loved to brag about his one-night stands with hot boys and although Enjolras hadn’t spoken about his romance loves, he knew there was some  _ Leo _ and  _ Timothé _ . It didn’t bother him that they were both happy in relationship, while he couldn’t find girlfriend for a few years now. They were his friends, he wished them the best. 

But it was —  _ weird _ . 

The idea that his two friends are cuddling in the evening, kissing and talking about future; made his body felt  _ strange _ . He knew very well why. Unlike their other friends, he looked at their relationship rationally. Didn’t the others see how dangerous it was for their group? Didn’t they realize that they were both so different that they would start arguing not only at meetings but also in their relationship? What about Enjolras’s workaholism, which Grantaire made fun of? Grantaire’s cynicism that Enjolras always hated so much? What would happen after Enjolras starts working and will not have time for Grantaire like before? What would happen when Grantaire becomes an artist, and Enjolras would not understand his visionary dreams? What about Grantaire’s love for traveling and Enjolras laziness to pull his heels out of France, let alone Paris? He didn’t even started to think about Grantaire’s alcohol problems and Enjolras’s panic attacks. 

Combeferre suspected that it would start being bad between them. Sooner or later, something would happen. They argue would turn bad, they would say something hurtful. The relationship would slowly killing them, and neither will know how to end it. And then? It will end in the worst way. Enjolras would say something terrible that would made Grantaire tried to drink himself to death; or Grantaire will do something stupid with someone else,  _ cheat on him probably _ , and Enjolras would closes himself and begin to suffers from nightmares again. 

Then — what would happens to them? Their friends? Of course they will want it to be okay again. They would not meet with both of them. They would cry with Grantaire after their breakup and scream with Enjolras on demonstrations. But what then? Logically, each of them would choose side. Joly and Bossuet will always be on Grantaire side, as Courfeyrac and him on Enjolras’s. Others then decide on how their relationship ends and join, according to them, the “innocent” side. Their group would disintegrates, leaving them with bad memories that will haunt them for some time.

Just because two of their friends couldn’t stop their  _ animal instinct _ . Combeferre gritted his teeth. It always turned out like this. He wanted to wish them the best — really! — but how could he? Should he deny what was inevitable and pretend that everything was okay? He couldn’t do that.

After a week of silent household, when they were able to only greet each other, Enjolras asked him: “Combeferre, do you mind, that I’m dating Grantaire?” Combeferre was in kitchen then, making himself a tea, Enjolras was sitting on couch, holding a book in his hands that he obviously didn’t read. He was looking somewhere at the corner of the table.

“No,” Combeferre said. Enjolras looked at him. He knew the look. Combeferre sighed. “If you think I mind because you’re both guys, you very well know that’s not the problem. If you’re afraid that I don’t want you to be happy, you should slap yourself now! Because, If I remember right, it was me who was forcing you to date someone already and forget about the prick in freshman year.” Both of them laughed at the memory of his classmate Marc. “Even Grantaire deserves to be happy, he always wanted to have proper relationship and be happy in love. And if that means he has to be with you? I have nothing against it.”

“But?” Enjolras asked quietly. 

Combeferre poured hot water from the kettle into his cup. “I…” He didn’t know where to start. He doesn’t have problem to speak professionally, stand up for his opinions, and even talk about the irrelevant things. But talking about such personal things as relationship or love? It was difficult for him. He knew that if he said it out loud, he would hurt his best friend. And he never wanted that.

“You know I won’t be angry, just tell me.”

“But you will be,” Combeferre said mixing three cubes of sugar in his cup. “I’m worried about Les Ámis.” He didn’t have to turn to know that Enjolras frowned. “I’m worried about what would happen if you don’t agree with each other. I know how you can argue and what both of you can say in anger. Neither of you have any censorship. Both of you are stubborn. But now it will be much more personal. Suddenly it isn’t just about friendship is about  _ relationship _ . That’s complicated. What happens if, well, you know, what if you break u—” Combeferre didn’t finish. He just felt Enjolras’s palms touching his shoulder. It was the most intimate touch Enjolras was capable of. At least in friendly way.

“Don’t worry,” Enjolras said in serious yet relaxed voice. “I would never let anything happen in our group because of my relationship.”

Combeferre didn’t want to believe it at first. As soon as he saw them, he immediately remember that they were dating. They were  _ couple _ . They were chatting, when Enjolras smiles at his cell phone display like a teenager; they were calling, when Enjolras whispered things Combeferre didn’t hear at night; they spend time together when they weren’t with others. His fears returned everytime like a boomerang.

However, after some time, he began to notice that Enjolras was right after all. During their group meetings, Enjolras and Grantaire treated each other the same way as before. They were no longer arguing, and all their remarks were more calm, sometimes they looked at each other in a way that Combeferre hadn’t tried to explain; but otherwise — they were still the same. Grantaire stopped drinking so much, Enjolras was more relaxed about, well,  _ everything _ . When they met outside the café for meet-up, party or clubbing; they came and leave together, hand in hand. Grantaire liked to touch Enjolras’ things, just as Enjolras liked to toss his hand over Grantaire’s shoulders. Occasionally, Grantaire trimmed Enjolras’s pair of restless hair, and Enjolras was scratching dried colors from Grantaire’s clothes. They sat side by side, their knees touching all the time; but, well, that was everything. They didn’t called each other with some sweet nicknames; no one saw them seduce or flirt with each other; hell, one one saw them even  _ hug  _ or  _ kiss _ . They behaved like a couple, but didn’t rub it to everyone faces.

Maybe this helped Combeferre accept their love and finally stop being afraid. After all, it seemed to benefit both. They laughed, were happier, sometimes made fun of each other. Finally, they could breath around them. When they met, no one, especially the two of them, could imagine that they could end up together. They have become proof that opposites attract.

Combeferre realized that sometimes he even forgot that they were a couple. And that was the most likeable to him.

\---

Everything changed when Combeferre arrived home during Christmas holidays. Like every year, he went to Toulouse to see his family, while Enjolras went to Montpellier to see his beloved grandmother. They always said goodbyes one week before Christmas and didn’t meet until the few days after New Year.

This time, however, Combeferre arrived unexpectedly early. His whole family had caught virosis, which had been with them for three weeks. Combeferre tried to help them, but without any result. Combeferre had great immunity and rarely became ill. But when something got him, it was always serious. The older he was, the worse his symptoms were. Two years back he got pneumonia from one run with wet hair and he spent two months in the hospital. His family and friends had never been more worried about him. The feeling of having to go through it again scared his mom. So he went back to Paris at her request.

When he arrived at the apartment, no one was there. But he was surprised that the apartment was warm, the blinds were open, and even an electric kettle was plugged into the drawer. “We forgot?” He asked himself, and finally shrugged. It was a few minutes past eleven. He felt tired, and all he wanted was to fall into bed and sleep well. He put his shoes in shoe holder, hung his coat in the closet next to the door, picked up the suitcase he'd placed beside the table in his room, and fell into bed. The silence in the apartment put him to sleep.

He woke up an hour later when he heard the water boiling in the kitchen. He opened his eyes quickly, found the glasses he'd dropped somewhere on his bed, and quickly sat. Before he could get off his bed, he heard, “I must admit it wasn't that bad.” Enjolras. Combeferere’s heart finally stopped pounding. “I told you you'd like the movie.” Grantaire. Combeferre fell into the duvets again and tuged himself in a soft cushion. It was strange that Enjolras spent the holidays here, instead with his beloved grandmother, but he decided to leave all the questions to morning.

He was in bed for twenty minutes. He heard them talking about a movie whose name he never heard of; they made tea and went to Enjolras' room. When the conversation fell silent and he realized he couldn't sleep, he wanted to get out of bed and go to his friends, maybe talk to them for a moment and have a cup of jasmine tea; when he heard a strange rustle of things and a creak of bed. It only took a second. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice if they hadn’t rooms right next to each other, and the fronts of their beds didn’t touch the wall in the same place.

_ They probably go to sleep _ , Combeferre thought, and lay down again. He probably would have tea with them at breakfast in the morning. Maybe it was better, he wasn’t in the mood for talking. But he always had a lot of people around him, so he found it strange to lie there alone. But he decided not to disturb his friends. The  _ couple _ . 

The bed creaked again. This time longer, louder. Combeferre frowned a little. He knew this sound. When Enjolras was too busy at school or work, he always rolled over in his sleep. His bed was old already and creaked even when someone sit just on edge of it.

_ Creak.  _ Again.  _ Creak. _ Again. It became regular.

Combeferre opened his eyes. This seemed strange to him. Maybe Grantaire suffer from rolling over the bed too?

_ Slap. _ Combeferre winced. It sounded like someone was slapping something. They beating each other in their sleep? 

_ Slap. Creak. _ Again, a couple of times. Combeferre blinked a few times and began to wonder if it would be better for both of them if he will go to wake them. If they’re hurting each other in their sleep like this, it must be bothersome. He would calmly offers Enjolras to sleep on his bed and he would lie down on the couch. He couldn’t sleep anyway, so he’d play something on the Playstation at least in the living room.

_ Slap _ .  _ Creak _ .  _ Slap _ .  _ Creak _ . Decided. He’ll go. He was already getting out of bed when he suddenly heard,  _ “Oh — ah — God, Enjolras, you're so fucking big.”  _ Combeferre's body was covered in goosebumps. “ _ If I had known how much big you’re, I'd fuck with you long ago — oh, God, yes, do  _ that  _ again _ .” Combeferre's eyes widened. They were trying to find some clue in the darkness of his room that might explain what was happening right now. “ _ God, God, God. _ ” Grantaire's lament was interrupted by Enjolras’ soft, throat laughter. “ _ I thought you were an atheist. _ ” The creaking noise stopped. “ _ Do you really want to talk about religion right now, Apollo? _ ” Enjolras laughed again. “ _ Not really, _ ” he said quietly, before the bed cracked up again, and the wet sound skins became louder and stronger. Grantaire couldn’t say anything, just moaned loudly. Occasionally there was a faint “yes”, “more” or “fuck” in his sobs.

Combeferre sat on bed, dumbfounded. Though he had accepted their relationship, he had never thought about what they were doing behind the closed doors of their apartments. He knew Grantaire and his long list of partners  _ —  _ hell, everyone of their group knew what he done with every ex boyfriend. In details. He loved sex. But Enjolras was cold and generally tried not to talk about it much. He wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t like to mention what he was doing, with whom and how. He liked to protect his privacy and told them that more than kisses and a few touches on his skin makes him uncomfortable, and perhaps because of this, he was rather single than in relationship. Nobody ever asked the two of them what they were doing together. Even Joly and Bossuet, whom Grantaire told even what he didn’t know, only revealed that Enjolras was a great kisser. Neither of them asked more, because they realized how sensitive the subject was for the younger of the two. Somehow they all assumed they weren't sleeping together. It seemed more natural to think that Grantaire would rather reduce his passion than force Enjolras do something, he felt so uncomfortable about.

However, everybody seemed to be completely wrong.

“ _ Agh — how the fuck you know this kind of things _ ?” Grantaire's voice brought him back into reality. He straightened up on the bed and, without realizing it, grabbed the duvet by hem and pulled it closer to his body. “ _ What? _ ” Enjolras asked in such a innocent voice that it was clear to Combeferre he was just mocking him. “ _ That you know — agh, Jesus, one more time, and I probably will — ah— _ ” Enjolras just laughed at his outpouring. More wet sounds. More creaking. Again and again. Stronger. More passionately. Louder. “ _ Ah, I don't want to — I don't want to come yet, please, Enjolras —agh. _ " Combeferre had never heard him beg. “ _ Grantaire, shut up. _ ” Enjolras suddenly spoke a little harshly. He barely moaned, but he could hear his rapid breath. “ _ Why? Foureyes isn’t there. _ ” Combeferre instinctively slipped into the duvets and covered himself to neck. He felt like a small child. “ _ But I still have neighbors, Grantaire. _ ” There were a few more squeaks and one slam. The headboard of the bed hit the wall. The second time. The third time. “ _ You're terrible! _ ” Grantaire shouted, sighing and moaning again. A long moan, a slow creaking, a rustling of a sheet, a whining. “ _ Really? _ ” Enjolras's voice was almost arrogant. “ _ It seems to me that I just finished someone. I can't be as bad as you say. _ ” Grantaire just laughed at this sentence. 

Combeferre buried his head even more in the pillow, covered his ears with a blanket, and fell asleep exhausted.

When he woke up in the morning, he first noticed the pain he felt in his lower abdomen. He snorted softly.  _ This is certainly just a morning erection _ , he thought in his head.  _ I'm sure I caught the virus at home _ , he started to calming myself as he felt his cheeks and ears burn. He quickly jumped out of bed, walked into the bathroom, and stood under the cold shower. When he shrugged several times and felt his erection slack, he change it to hot water and washed himself with his beloved, chocolate shower gel. He felt as if something was sticking to him and couldn’t wash it away. He almost rubbed his skin to blood on his stomach as he constantly felt the nasty pressure that sent signals to an organ he didn't want to think about.

“Good morning,” Enjolras said in surprise as he noticed that Combeferre appeared between the door to the living room and the kitchen, wiping his hair in a towel. “I didn't expect you be here so soon.”

“I arrived just a moment ago,” he lied, trying to ignore the burning sensation on his cheeks. Enjolras didn't comment on his blushing, he probably thought it was from a hot shower. “Everyone is sick at home.”

“That sucks,” Enjolras said, pulling another plate from his cupboard. “I made breakfast, do you want some?" The answer was a loud sound coming from his belly that echoed through the silence in the room. Combeferre flushed even more, and Enjolras laughed. “I take it as a yes.” With that, he put a few tablespoons of scrambled eggs on the plate, sprinkled them with parsley and put them on the dining table. “Grantaire’s here,” Enjolras said, and Combeferre quickly focused on his plate. “I would ask if you don't mind, but as you were gone, it seemed unnecessary to ask you. Sorry if I knew—”

“Nothing's happening,” Combeferre said quietly. “You slept at his places many times already.” Immediately, his memories of the evening when he heard the creak of the bed and Grantaire's moans played in his head. Did they do that every time they were at Grantaire's apartment? Combeferre had to clear his throat. “It's normal you wanted him here too.”

“I'm glad you take it so well." With that, he took a tray with two plates, glasses of apple juice and slices of chocolate biscuits. He went to his room, where he began to wake Grantaire. Combeferre heard only his silent protests and whining.

The whining that reminded him so much of what he had heard last night.

Combeferre felt his pants became a little tighter again.

\---

_ It was a coincidence. It happened for the first and last time. _ Combeferre calmed himself every time he saw them disappear into Enjolras’ room; eating breakfast on the balcony; or talking alone at the bar in Musain. It took him a moment to erase the memories of Grantaire’s voice though. He never imagined that someone like him — nearly 5’9 feet tall with a 198 pounds — could make such sounds. If he was into guys, he could almost say they were even—

Combeferre shook his head. He certainly didn’t want to think of that. If only it was a stranger, it would be easier. But his friend? He felt as if he was betraying his trust. As if thinking of something that was forbidden and inappropriate. Combeferre hated breaking the rules. He loved orders. This was totally against his conviction.

After a month, he finally stopped thinking about that night. Whenever they were together, they were always careful not to show more than necessary. When Grantaire slept at their apartment, he only heard them wishing goodnight each other. When Enjolras slept at his, he rather turned on a movie where he fell asleep so that his memories would not slip where shouldn’t.

Everything seemed to be alright. Until their professor decided to cancel the last afternoon pathology lessons and sent them home. Normally, he always liked to stop for coffee at the school café on his way to school; go to the library where he had done all the school work in advance; or just walked to the Eiffel Tower; but he wasn’t in the mood today. He wanted to go home, have a good shower and finally look at the last season of  _ Silicon Valley _ that he hadn’t seen yet.

When he opened the door to the apartment he immediately noticed Grantaire’s trampled sneakers. He always left them tossed at the shoe cabinet, this time with his school bag, with several brushes sticking out. He probably came straight from school. Combeferre was already inhaling to great them loudly when he heard from the living room: “Where did you learn to  _ suck a dick  _ like this?”

Combeferre almost fainted on the spot. He didn’t knew what he felt more  _ — _ red cheeks, pounding heart, or how his legs become hard like from metal and he stood still. He felt he couldn't move, as if his body stopped listening. His ears burned from flushing, yet he couldn’t control them. They listened to every little detail of the sound coming from the living room.

A murmur of clothing that rubs against the couch fabric; wet sounds as if someone was licking ice cream; Enjolras’s deep breaths; Grantaire’s soft sighing and occasionally cursing. The sounds accelerated and slowed again. “Shit, just a minute and—” Grantaire didn't finish his sentence. He just made out a deep, loud groan, accompanied by Enjolras’ laughter.

“You wanted to say something?” He asked scornfully, but Grantaire didn’t answer him. Combeferre heard them begin to kiss - their breaths, moans, and panting mixed together. “Grantaire,” Enjolras whispered softly, and Grantaire replied with another shrieking sound.

Combeferre finally woke up. The legs decided to move themselves, opened the door, walked out into the corridor, and quickly began to run down all the steps to the ground floor, almost falling off some. He quickly picked up his cell phone and dialed Bahorel’s number. “Hey, could I come over to your place? Yeah, because of the game. Thanks.”

He went blindly to his friend home, his thoughts returning to what he heard in the apartment. He started to remembering that night after Christmas. How he heard them — Combeferre fastened his pace. He didn’t want to think about it, he needed to focus on something else.

When he rang at Bahorel’s apartment, he was waiting for him with a bag of crisps, beer, and a playstation. When they sat next to each other and started playing, Bahorel asked, “Hey, shouldn’t you be at school to four?”

“Yeah,” Combeferre said, concentrating on the role of the character he was playing for. “But our pathology lesson get dismissed.”

“I see,” Bahorel replied curtly, and immediately shouted, “Shit!” When his character died after two minutes in game. “No wonder you came right here.”

Combeferre paused and looked at Bahorel. “Why?”

“I guess you know Grantaire is here after school today and God knows what you would see there if they don’t awaits you,” Bahorel laughed.

Combeferre felt the blood return to his face. “Well, um, you think—”

“Grantaire have some comments already. Once, when he was a little toast. He said something to Joly. Not much, but I think our dear leader is not as freshly fallen snow as he seems.” With that he focused back on the screen. “Living with someone who is sexually active is really miserable. I remember when I lived with Courfeyrac in a first year in university before he went to the apartment with Marius. I wanted to kill him every night.”

Combeferre swallowed dry. “E-every night?”

“Every. Night,” Bahorel said seriously.

It was seven o’clock in the evening when he left Bahorel and went home. When he got home, Enjolras was watching television with political debate on, angry commented what they were telling, biting poppy cookies while shaking his head. Combeferre cleared his throat and said softly: “Hi.” Enjolras just waved his hand and still focused to television. Combeferre made himself tea, took a croissant, and sat down next to his friend. The political debate kept him cool. But it seemed normal for him to sit beside Enjolras and listen to his silent remarks and insults, that he felt almost like in  _ real home _ .

He almost finished his croissant when Enjolras suddenly turned to him and said, “You haven’t wrote me.” Combeferre didn’t know what he meant. “That you will come later. Grantaire was here and he said he’d rather go than bother us. You know how he can be sometimes. He still tells me sometimes that we are like two husbands after twenty years marriage.”

“I went to Bahorel right after school to try one of his new games.”

“It’s okay, I'm not angry,” Enjolras said with a smile and stood up. “Just text me next time, please. Grantaire would probably have stayed longer, and now, as we have both exams, we’re happy for any spare time we can spend together.”

“Sure,” Combeferre said, watching Enjolras go into his room with a smile, tapping something on his cell phone. A moment later there was a muffled laughter. Combeferre focused on the television again and grunted, “I didn’t send a message.” He said to himself. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire ever wanted to put them in a situation where he would have to listen to their  _ love making _ . For the first time  _ — _ he arrived way to early, leaving no trace in the hallway, they couldn’t guess he was already home. Now, the second time, he came home almost three hours earlier. They weren’t distracted. Combeferre was. “Oh,” he whispered rather to himself.

\---

From then on, Combeferre was careful to keep his mobile with him. When he left school earlier and wasn’t in the mood to stay somewhere, he wrote to Enjolras that he would be coming home in half an hour, suspecting, or rather hoping, that it wouldn’t take them so long to clean up all the evidence. On the contrary, wherever he was late or coming home at morning, he always wrote to Enjolras that he had apartment for himself; Enjolras always wrote to him, “ _ Okay, enjoy the evening. _ ”

He began spending much more time in the school library. More than is healthy. It seemed to him that he had almost moved in. But he could always tell himself that he was doing this only for the great benefit he had to give him the opportunity to get a medical internship in Canada next year.

He was just reading a complicated chapter on genetic diseases in neurology when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It wasn’t often that someone wrote him. Courfeyrac, Enjolras, and Joly knew his schedule by heart. They only wrote to him when they were sure he wasn’t at school. Even if something serious happened, they tried to contact everyone else before they wrote him. The rest of the band wrote little to him, and mostly on the weekend. They knew Combeferre needed to focus on the school that was important to him. Although Joly studied the same thing, he didn’t set his goals as high as he did.

Combeferre pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. Message from Enjolras. If he wrote to him at this time, when he knew he was waiting for the last exam in gastroenterology, submitting papers for medical practice and enrolling for a credit test in neurology; something serious happened. Trying not to panic, he quickly opened a new message.

_ Enjolras: Hi, I'm sorry to disturb you. Could you arrive at the apartment around 8:00 today? Thanks. _

Combeferre frowned. The library was closing in half an hour. Like every Friday, they were only open until four in the afternoon. Enjolras knew it. He looked out the window. Even though spring had begun, there was still enough snow and coldness on the street. He had no desire to go to the café and wasn’t in the mood to meet another friend. Actually, he was quite looking forward to going home. He wanted to fall into bed, play some sitcom on the computer, and finally relax a little before starting a new medical practice at the infection department on Wednesday.

_ Combeferre: Why? _

_ Enjolras: Grantaire is coming. He didn’t get time off at work, and this is the only way to see himself before he goes to his parents for a 2 weeks. _

_ Combeferre: So you want me to freeze somewhere on the street just so you can fuck? _

Combeferre bit his tongue. His fingers were faster than the brain that immediately began to yell at him to calm down. Combeferre almost pushed the  _ Send  _ button. He quickly deleted the message and closed his lips. Enjolras wasn’t responsible for the fact that he hadn’t been able to find a girlfriend for two years, either for a relationship or just for one night. He wasn’t responsible for his friend finally being in healthy relationship and happy, trying to spend every free minute with his partner. When Enjolras complained about his roommate on campus in his freshman year, it was Combeferre who said that he hated his roommate too and would finally want to leave the dormitory into a normal apartment. It was his idea. From the very beginning, they set out the rules for how they would live together. And they have also resolved relationships  _ — _ they will always respect each other, so that the privacy and comfort of each other isn’t compromised. How many times had Enjolras come home later? How many times had Enjolras had to stay with Feuilly or Courfeyrac? How many times did Enjolras buy a pile of food for three people just to be sure his new girlfriend will have something to eat? How many times had Enjolras spent all day in the room to allow Combeferre and his lady to have the whole apartment for themself?

Enjolras did a lot for Combeferre. When he look at it now, maybe too much, for all his failed romances.

He just wanted to answer just plain “ _okay_ ”, when he heard someone next to him asking, “Is something wrong?” Combeferre looked at his side when small girl with brown hair was standing and have a name label _— Odette_ _—_ at her chest. Combeferre noticed her a week ago when he was borrowing a book about polysomnography, and she smiled at him, saying, _“Please return it in a month, please.”_ when she reserved the book in system. Combeferre wouldn’t even have noticed her if she didn’t look familiar.

“No,” he said as he noticed Odette blinking and inhaling to ask him again. “Just, roommate... Sorry to use the cell phone in the library.”

“It’s all right,“ Odette said with a smile. “Just — I just saw you frowning and it looked like you needed help with something.”

“No, thank you.” With that he put on his jacket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Really?” Odette asked hopefully, shaking her right foot nervously.

“Really,” Combeferre said, adjusting his hood. “Do we know each other? You seems kinda familiar,” he said as he tied the scarf around his neck.

“Do you remember me? That’s surprise,” she said with a broad smile, adjusting a strand of hair behind her ear and there was faint pink in her face. “We had together a practice on emergency with Dr. Mercier.”

“With the Tyrant?” Combeferre asked, wondering. It was one of his first practice at the hospitals. He was then assigned to one of the leading emergency doctors. Mercier was an excellent doctor, but not a very good man. He could help, but he was an unpleasant man from the point of view. He failed three marriages, paying maintenance to five children and blaming all the women he had met in his life  _ —  _ beginning with his mother and her choking love for him to every female student on university. He hated to accept female students for practice, and they all ended up with him before they learned anything. He was to teach them again in his last year, where the girls had taken him as the biggest scarecrow. But even the boys were afraid of him. He was stern, arrogant and sharp. A lot of students were crying after practice with him. At that moment Combeferre remembered. “Odette… Odette Cassini?” Odette's eyes lit up and she nodded her head several times. “God, sorry, I didn’t recognize you at all.”

“I don’t blame you,” Odette said, rubbing her beautiful, brown hair with her hand. “I looked terrible back then.”

“Yes, you look different without those snots under your nose.”

“Don't even remind me!” She cried a little louder than she wanted. She glanced around quickly, but saw no one. They were alone in the library. “It was very embarrassing. ” It was the second day of practice. Combeferre was changing as a girl ran into the dressing room, ran past him, and got into the toilet cabinet. Combeferre stood there for a moment until he heard her crying and snorting. He carefully opened the toilet door and noticed the small, curly girl with round glasses crouching in the corner and crying loudly. He didn’t even have to ask what happened. She had a night shift with Mercier, all she had to do was give him the wrong scalpel, and he was like a devil out of the box. He gave her his cloth handkerchief, helped her to her feet, rinsed her face, started talking that  _ this was just a difficult start _ , and then everything would be good. Odette wasn’t talking to him then, just listening. She let him wipe her face and invite for a coffee that he had bought from a vending machine, but thanks to his smile it tasted better than from a coffee shop. Combeferre then defended Odette several times before Mercier. When both of them ended their practice, he complained about Mercier and said that someone like him shouldn’t work with people, and if he wanted to help medicine after all, he should go on pathology. Neither Combeferre nor Odette passed on his exam. However, they were examined by the Rector, both of whom passed excellent. As soon as the other students heard about it, they began to join this little fight after Mercier. It didn’t take long for him to break the contract with the school. “You know he’s working on pathology at Fontainebleau now?”

“He took some advice from me then.”

“Yes,” Odette laughed. “Thank you so much for being so kind to me then.”

“That’s matter of course.”

“If you hadn’t been for me there that time, I would have given up medicine long ago.”

“The bully was a test for me too. I have to go. Thank you for reviving the memory, I would almost forget it.”

“Me not,” she said truthfully, but Combeferre no longer heard her. He walked around and was about to leave when Odette turned quickly and said, “Wait.” Combeferre stopped and looked at her. “I have your handkerchief.” She pulled a cloth handkerchief engraved from her blue sweatshirt. “I wanted to return it to you after practice, but I totally missed it. When Mercier left then, I remembered and wanted to give it to you, but I forgot your name. I couldn’t find you at school and there was no time search for you with exams and practice.” She reached out to Combeferre and smiled at him. “Perhaps it isn’t too late to thank and return it.”

“Certainly not.” He took a few steps closer, but stopped before he could take the handkerchief. He focused once more on Odette’s gaze. She smiled, her cheeks were pink, pupils dilated. She smelled beautifully of strawberries and cinnamon. Combeferre loved both of these scents. He didn’t saw the girl from the practice in her. She looked completely different  _ — _ she straightened her hair, replaced her glasses with lenses, dropped loose clothing, and changed into what flattered her body. Only now had Combeferre noticed how narrow her waist and long legs were.

_ Two years _ . It's been a long time. Too long to live without any relaxation.

“It's som—”

“What if you gave it back to me next Friday?”

“What?” She asked in surprise, but her smile widened.

“With some coffee. And this time I don’t mean from the vending machine but from some good café. I know one, two subway stops from here. It’s not far away, it’s often crowded, but it is worth it.”

Odette didn’t hesitate. “That would be great.”

“Will you be here next Friday?"”

“Yes.”

“Same time?”

“Yes.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at five.”

“Okay.”Odette couldn’t hide her joy and laughed out loud. Combeferre returned her smile and waved at goodbye. As soon as he came out of the library, the pungent, freezing air began to burn him in the cheeks and nose.

Two years. He needed to finally meet someone. The boys were amazing, he loved them as friends and had a lot in common; but they couldn’t give him what he hadn’t had for so long. Even though Courfeyrac had offered himself several times, even in totally sober condition. He always killed him with his gaze, which Courfeyrac commented dramatically as “ _ a look of contempt”. _

All the way through the subway he thought about what date with Odette would be. What they will talk about, if it would be appropriate to buy a small gift and if it should then bring it home or just enough to bus stop. Can he wipe the whipped cream off her lips? Grab her hand? Kiss her goodbye? He started to smile as he walked out of the subway. He was looking forward it. It has been too long.

When he unlocked the door to the apartment, he felt he wanted to talk to Enjolras about it. When was the last time they talked about something irrelevant? Their stories have always something to do with school, work, their group activity. They seldom sat in front of the TV and talked about something that was only important to the two of them. He began to wonder if he should order a pizza or jump to the end of the street where they were selling the best baguettes and cheeses; when loud breathing stopped him between the doors. It sounded like Enjolras was practicing. In the morning, he heard, and occasionally saw him doing push-ups in the living room. He wanted to take his rucksack off his back as Enjolras’s breathing was joined by a still “ _ fuck _ ” accompanied by Grantaire’s loud sigh and the creaking of the bed.

“Damn,” Combeferre said softly, glancing at his watch. It was only half past four. He had completely forgotten what Enjolras send him. He came home too soon. Enjolras warned him. He was so stupid—

“Ah—Enjolras— _ fortheloveoffuckinggod _ —stop.” The creak of bed stopped.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked cautiously, and Combeferre was sure he was looking at Grantaire’s face as closely as possible to make sure his partner was all right.

“Everything,  _ everything _ ,” Grantaire said, groaning loudly. “I want to ride you.”

No. Combeferre certainly wasn’t standing in the doorway to hear the rustling of the sheets as they were probably changing positions. Combeferre certainly didn’t stand between the doors to hear Enjolras lay in his duvets and pat on his thighs, saying, “Go ahead.” Combeferre certainly didn’t stand between the doors to hear Grantaire sit on his lap, to hear his hands sink into Enjolras’s chest, and groan loudly, “Fuck me so I can’t sit down for two weeks.” Combeferre certainly wasn’t standing in the doorway to hear Enjolras granted his request.

Coming quickly out of the door, Combeferre locked behind him and leaned on the door. He had to run his tongue over his lips. They were all dry. Combeferre looked a little lower, to the hem of his pants to— “Hell no,” he whispered rather to himself. He could feel his dick pounding. His pants in his crotch were slightly raised. He felt a little sweating on his back. He tried to pull the jacket down under his ass to hide it a little. “Hell no,” he said again, and quickly left.

For the next three hours he was sitting in a baguette at the end of the street, with a second bacon baguette, a third coffee, and an open book on histopathology, which he didn’t even pretend he was reading. The sounds he heard through the door kept coming back in his head. Then the ones he heard the very first time. Then Grantaire’s moan, when Enjolras suck—Combeferre had to close his eyes, cross his legs, and bite his lip to stop thinking about it.

When he returned at nine to the apartment, Grantaire was gone and Enjolras aslept. Combeferre was glad for that. He quickly reached his room and lay down in bed. Some sounds kept coming back in his head like an echo that he couldn’t get rid of. “Sexual deprivation, sexual deprivation.” He tried to told himself, even when he woke up in the morning with a hot sensation in his stomach and a burning erection. “Sexual deprivation.”

\---

Two years is long enough to improve on drawing; become known on the Internet; write and publish a book; it’s almost a bachelor’s degree in some countries; and it's also enough time to forget how to date. Combeferre, though full of charism and natural charm, also made a lot of stupid mistakes in nervousness. And when he arrived and poured water from a bag in which he had a flower wrapped for Odette; yes, that was a stupid mistake. Odette laughed and said she didn’t mind, but Combeferre didn’t know if his cheeks were burning more with shame or rage over himself.

“Nothing happened, really,” Odette said for nearly one hundred time already, watching Combeferre’s death glare at the dessert on the table. “It’s actually the most interesting start of date I’ve ever had.” She reached over and stroked him gently on the back of his left hand. Combeferre looked at her face, smiling at him. “Really.” Combeferre gave her a smile, and they finally started talking.

If his phone didn’t ring at eight at night, he would lose all sense of time. “Sorry.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and looked at the display, where a new message from Enjolras was waiting for him. Suddenly his throat tightened. Is Enjolras writing to him because he wonders where he is? He writes to him because he wants to know when he’ll arrive? Or does he write to inform him that he doesn’t want him to come home sooner and have time to make love with his boyfriend? He gritted his teeth.

“Something wrong?” Combeferre looked at Odette, who pointed to his forehead, and with a slight smile said, “You're scowling as you did a week ago.”

“Roommate,” he said only, opening the message from Enjolras.

_ Enjolras: I bought sushi along the way, so you don't have to buy anything for dinner. _

Combeferre felt the pressure on his chest slack. But his thoughts still remained with Enjolras. He's home, having dinner, waiting for him. He let him know so they could have dinner — together. And he thought only of the anger that had begun to absorb him, because — because what? What he felt as annoying pressure whenever he remembered that Enjolras and Grantaire were in their room and together— “You're scowling again,” Odette said gently, pushing her chair to Combeferre. “Do you need to go?”

“Sorry,” he said with regret in his voice, which he didn't even know if he was playing. Combeferre paid, helped Odette into her coat, and escorted her to a bus stop just outside the café. By the time they reached the bench, they could see the lights of the bus coming from the corner.

“I really enjoyed it today,” she said as they both looked at the approaching bus.

“Me too,” Combeferre said, but he couldn't deny that weird voice whispering to him that he was saying it out of polite. What did he remember from his date today? An embarrassing incident at the beginning and Enjolras message. Everything else seemed to fall into a thick fog, from which he couldn’t see, hear or feel. He felt terrible. Odette was kind to him, trying to make him laugh, interested in him. He could said what he wanted and she listened to him. So why the sudden turn of things? What had happened so crucial that he wanted to go home and go into his room? What was he looking forward to? “We should repeat it,” he said before the annoying chest pressure could suffocate him.

Odette’s eyes lit up. “Yes, of course.”

“Friday again?”

“Okay.” With that, the bus stopped at the curb and opened the door. Odette took a step forward, but immediately adjusted her restless hair to her ear, turned quickly, grabbed Combeferre by the biceps and kissed him on the lips. Carelessly, coarse, clumsy. She pushed away from him so quickly that Combeferre didn’t even notice that she already boarded to a bus and was slowly leaving. He quickly found her in the bus, her nose buried in her jacket, and tapped nervously with his foot. When he woke up from the shock, the bus was gone.

Combeferre stood at the bus stop for a few more minutes. It took him a while to get back into reality. He just stared at the road in front of him. Instead, he shook his head, chased away any unnecessary thoughts, and walked to the subway station to get home as soon as possible. When he opened the door to the apartment, he was immediately struck by the smell of lemon and cream, and he heard Enjolras humming gently in the kitchen. He did that whenever he was in a good mood. The longer he was with Grantaire, the more he met Enjolras in such a good mood. He walked into the door where he had a view of the living room and the kitchen, and said, “There's someone in a good mood.”

“Hi,” Enjolras greeted him with a smile and hot tea in his hands.

“Are you celebrating something?” Combeferre asked cautiously, noticing the sushi plates. Enjolras bought them only in special situations.

“I'm just in a good mood.”

“And that caused…?”

“One little thing,” Enjolras said, sitting opposite Combeferre. “What about you? You've been coming home late lately and I haven’t seen you much. You haven’t been on meeting for two weeks.”

_ How could I, when I try to avoid listening how you fuck with your boyfriend?  _ “I was on a date.”

“Congratulations,” Enjolras said frankly, knowing how much Combeferre wanted a girl. He was exactly the kind of person who couldn’t be alone for long time. So the last two years have been suffering even for him. He saw Combeferre nervous and was always annoyed, almost angry every time he looked at kissing couple at street. At the same time, he was one of those who, whenever and at any time, indicated that he belonged to someone. “It’s something serious?”

“She works in the school library, so enough, because if it doesn’t work, she’ll never lend me a book again.” They both laughed. Combeferre ate the first two sashimi and shrugged. “Her name is Odette.”

“Is she as beautiful, graceful and virtuous as the swan?”

“Wow, I didn't count on this reference.”

“Grantaire helps me fill the gaps in culture.”

Combeferre felt one of the shrimp delicacies bitter in his mouth. He swallowed it quickly and continued. “I met her in a freshman year on one practice, but then we lost contact completely. Actually, it was quite a coincidence that we met right now. She works in the library, at the reception. Trying to get some money between her studying.”

“That's terrible,” Enjolras said, frowning a little. “Students should enjoy their studies, focus on what they want to be in the future, and not worry about being able to complete their studies at all. Everyone should have the right to get it— ”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre stopped Enjolras’ monologue. “We're not at meeting.”

“Sorry,” Enjolras said, rubbing his restless hair with his fingers. “Continue.”

“Probably not much to tell. We only had a first date today. But I think it went pretty well. ”

“Pretty well?”

“Two years Enjolras,” Combeferre said, laughing. “I was nervous.”

“I can imagine.” Enjolras finished his tea and looked at the empty plate in front of his friend. “Want another one?”

“No, thanks,” he said honestly, getting up from his desk. “I want to watch something now and relax.”

“I approve that,” Enjolras laughed and stood up with empty dishes to wash it. As Combeferre went into the room, he heard Enjolras humming again. His soft voice conjured a smile on his face.

When Combeferre was lying in bed that night, on his back, his hands under his head, he was looking at the ceiling lit by street lamps in the darkness; he wondered why it was so weird. The date itself went well. Aside from the initial fiasco, he actually enjoyed it. But then... as if something had changed. So suddenly he couldn’t remember what he liked on the date. And the kiss—Combeferre sighed and rubbed his face with his palms. What it was? Why he didn’t like it? Sure, it was too hard, not really expecting it, and not enough to react to him, but he could always remember how every girl touched him, how she smelled, how smooth her lips were. But now nothing. Absolutely  _ nothing _ . He even forgot her warmth. As if he just imagined her.

Combeferre turned to his side and closed his eyes tightly. He needed to fall asleep. He was just tired. When he finally fell asleep after a few minutes, he dreamed of his room. It was dark, but thanks to the faint moonlight, he could identify his desk with textbooks. He heard something. Just gently, almost inaudibly. It was charming. But what was that? He couldn’t remember. He knew he’d heard it before. At least a few times. But—

When he opened his eyes, he awoke with a sore feeling in his stomach, dry lips and a morning erection. He buried his head in the pillow and grunted loudly.

\---

Combeferre began to live in routine. He liked orders in his life. It was convenient to have everything planned in advance and to prepare everything thoroughly. That was exactly what he was holding when he became interested in Odette. Every Monday after school, he went to the library to bring Odette hot coffee. Latte with some cinnamon. She always smiled at him, stroked his hand and chatted at the reception for two hours. Every Tuesday he wrote her how she was. She always answered him. Every Wednesday he had a night practice at the hospital, from which Odette was sending pictures of what he had experienced that day. She always wrote to him to send her a photo in the hospital cloak so she was sure he was a doctor and not a murderer. It always made him laugh. Every Thursday he went to the library to attend lectures on gastroenterology and pathology. He brought her something sweet — a piece of chocolate cake, a box of chocolates, a marzipan dummy. Odette had always complained that she would be fat, but she ate everything before he leave for another lesson. He picked her up every Friday at five in the library, had coffee or dinner, held hands throughout the evening, and Combeferre escorted her to a bus stop where they hugged and kissed. Every Saturday he wrote her that he was thinking of her, and every Sunday he wrote that he was looking forward to saw her again.

It was actually crazy orthodox. The fact that it repeated itself didn’t change the system. But Combeferre needed it. He needed to feel he had control of something. Because since Odette had kissed him for the first time, he had been afraid of his dreams. He was afraid of them because he couldn’t influence what he would dream the next night. He was even afraid of sleep. He tried to exhaust himself so much that he dreamed of anything, but it didn’t help. When he meditated, the dreams were even stronger and louder. When he tried to think of something at bedtime, anything other than what he dreamed about, he still didn’t fool his brain.

Every night he fell asleep feeling that today would be different, and woke up sweaty, scared and  _ hard _ .

The dream he first dreamed of coming from Odette’s first date was just the beginning. A foretaste of what awaits him. Every dream was repeated — he was in his room, lying in bed, looking at the scattered textbooks on the table. And he heard  _ something _ . Something indescribable that didn’t make sense to him. But with each passing day, dreams became much clearer. 

_ Enjolras, please, please, fuck me so hard I won't be able to sit down for two weeks. _

_ Grantaire, quiet, I also have neighbors. _

_ Ah — ah — more, please, I can't stand it. _

And neither did Combeferre. When he first recognized the voices of his two friends, he was sick. He really felt his dinner returning to his throat, and he had to rinse his face with cold water to ward off the feeling.

The next night it all repeated. Voices, sounds, creaking of bed,  _ slapping _ bodies.

The next morning it all repeated. Stomach pain, nausea, exhaustion, shame.

Everytime it became stronger, louder,  _ more real _ . Where the bed sometimes creaked, he now felt that the bed would fall apart under their love games. Where he heard Enjolras’s calm voice; he could hear his arrogant allusions and mockery. Where he had only heard Grantaire’s low voice before; now he heard his perverted remarks, loud moans and whining — God, that  _ whining _ . Combeferre knew that when he woke up in the morning, what burned his crotch wasn’t a morning erection. It was a consequence of what his brain recalled. It was a consequence of what his friends could do to him in a dream.

The worst thing was that he couldn’t look at either of them in the face. Every time he saw them, alone or together, he felt his ears burning with shame. After all, how he could look into their faces? Seeing Enjolras burn his adrenaline cheeks as he speaks to a group of enthusiasts and hot heads, not thinking that such beautiful lips besides talking can satisfy everyone in that room? Seeing Grantaire, in a hysterical bout of laughter, leaned his head back and not to think of stretching his entire body in ecstasy like that?

He didn’t get it. He couldn’t explain why this was happening. That’s why he tried to think of Odette and plan every second of their day together.

When Odette asked him if they started dating after a month and a half, he agreed.

Everyone congratulates him and actually looked forward to meeting her. But he knew he didn’t want her to meet them. He knew, somewhere deep in his heart he really knew, it wouldn't last long. He liked her, but he didn’t loved her. He knew that if he refused her that day, he would hurt her. He wasn’t like that. So he did, for him, the only logical thing — he take her as his rescue point.

And it wasn’t healthy.

\---

When he started practicing in the infectious ward, spring finally came. Within a few days it struck in full force. All of them quickly dropped their thick coats, turtlenecks, and long pants; The boys began to wear shirts, cotton pants and girls gorgeous dresses and hats. Combeferre liked spring the most. It was warm, but not hot yet. The girls always looked feminine in the dresses and the boys looked like real gentlemen. He had a weakness for spring, although he suffered from a slight allergy to pollen, from which he had red eyes and nose.

“You still look cute,” Odette told him as they parted at the bus stop and hugged each other for a long time.

“Like a swollen avocado.”

“Oh, come on,” she laughed, rising to her feet to kiss Combeferre. “Still beautiful as always.”

“Cute or beautiful? Choose. I can’t be both.”

“Why not?”

“ _ Cuteness _ is defined as something that evokes gentle feelings in people. While  _ beautiful  _ as something that is appealing to most of them. If I’m not mistaken, not everything that is cute, everyone likes and therefore it is not beautiful. So— ” Odette kissed him before he could finish his sentence. “Should I take it personally?” He asked playfully, pulling her closer to his body.

“I'm excited about how smart my boyfriend is,” she said truthfully. “But… I know it would be for a long time. You will not finish until the bus come.”

“Definitely not.”

“So what if you came to me?” Combeferre straightened. Odette’s eyes glowed in the hope of saying yes. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. He wanted to spend time with her, have fun, but—but he was missing  _ something _ . Something that didn’t make him think of her every day and hope to see her longer than planned. Actually, he knew he didn’t want to go. Because he was afraid of expecting something he would have to force himself to do. And that was—“Not today, I know how busy you are,” she said, noticing how hesitant he was. “Next time, maybe?”

“Next time,” Combeferre finally agreed, kissing her before she got in bus and left.

Combeferre swore softly to himself all the way. Two years. Two years without looking at the girl. Two years without touching a girl. Two years without kissing a girl. Two years without spending a night with a girl. After two years he could get rid of it, finally relax, finally feel the  _ awesome feeling _ again—

And he threw it away. He left it. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Have a girl, hold her hands, talk, kiss, make love? Didn’t he want to finally fall asleep in the arms of the girl, what would satisfy him in such a way that he would feel like a cloud all week? Why does he suddenly doubt it? Why hadn’t he just grabbed the opportunity and had finally relaxed?

“Because you're an idiot.” Combeferre assessed his situation as he opened the door to the apartment and came in. Immediately he was intrigued by the laughter that definitely didn’t belong to Enjolras. As soon as he looked at the shoe and saw the casually thrown, trampled sneakers with the dirty backpack of paint, he knew. Grantaire. He swallowed dry. Perhaps again—

“Combeferre, hi!” Combeferre winced and looked at the door that led into the common areas. Grantaire stood in the doors, leaning against one wall with one hand, his other folded sideways. “I'm glad you're taking time for an old friend, buddy. Your girl steals you from us!”

“That isn’t true,” Combeferre said with a smile, putting down his backpack, taking off his shoes and walking into the living room, where Enjolras was kneeling in front of the TV, holding a DVD in one hand and an old remote in the other. “Doesn't want to start up again?”

“No,” Enjolras said, exasperated and pressed the red button several times. Without success.

“He’s impossible,” Grantaire laughed at the trying of his partner.

“What did you say?” Enjolras asked sharply, trying to turn on the player via the blue button. Without success again.

“Just that technology isn’t exactly your strength,” Grantaire said with a laugh and sat down beside Enjolras. He looked at the remote he was holding in his hand and pressed the red button. “It doesn't work.”

“I already know that, Grantaire.”

Grantaire pressed a blue button. “It doesn't work.”

“I tried that too.”

“It doesn’t work,” he said as he pushed the yellow and then the orange button. “It doesn’t work.”

“I know,” Enjolras said between his teeth, trying to press several buttons at once.

“It’s broken.” Enjolras glared at Grantaire, who stuck his tongue at him.

“Let me see,” Combeferre said, seeing both of them struggling and taking the controller from them.

“Finally! A prince on white horse appeared!” Enjolras crossed his arms bloated, while Combeferre just laughed and pressed the white button on the remote control. This sent a signal to the player, which started for a moment, then a creaking sound came from it, turned off, and turn off the entire TV set from the electrical system.

After a minute of grave silence, Grantaire just said, “You broke it.”

Even when they turned on the TV again, the player no longer worked. Enjolras and Combeferre tried to fix it for a good hour, during which Grantaire prepared potato chips, beers and a few sandwiches. “I’m giving up, let's watch it on notebook,” Enjolras said exasperatedly.

Without any plans, Combeferre sat on the couch with them. Enjolras sat on the right side, his legs crossed, a bowl of crisps in his hand, which he constantly nibbled on; Grantaire sat next to him, his legs folded beneath him, a beer in his hand, looking closely at the screen in front of him; Combeferre tried to be as far as he could on the left side, so that he didn’t touch either of his feet, took possession of Grantaire’s sandwiches, and gazed silently at the computer that Enjolras had placed on the table in front of them, looking at  _ Jurassic Park _ .

One of Combeferre’s favorite scenes was coming as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He reached for him quickly and read the message.

_ Odette: Did I offend you by the invitation? I keep thinking about it. _

Combeferre sighed. “Everything’s alright?” Enjolras asked as he noticed his pensive expression. Combeferre just nodded, pointed at the display, and indicated that he would handle it in his room. Grantaire didn’t even notice he walked away.

When Combeferre reached his room, he was still looking at the display, trying to figure out what to answer. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned his head back. Odette was—she was  _ great _ . And that scared him. She was nice, sweet, friendly. Maybe a little rash, confused and childish at times, but that never bothered him. He thought it was cute. In combination with her white skin, which whenever she blushed she revealed that her face was filled with light freckles; was irresistible.

But he knew why Odette had invited him. She didn’t wanted to talk about school with him, watch a movie, or make out on the couch. Actually, maybe she did. But then it was certainly something more. He didn't miss the way she looked at him. Girls can better conceal excitement and hope than boys. But over the years, Combeferre knew it. He recognized when someone thought of something  _ naughty _ ; he knew what she was thinking when she licked her lips or her eyes slid from head to back, where she always stopped for a few seconds. She was single for a long time, after a three-year relationship in which she hadn’t experienced much good; maybe too long. Combeferre was the same. They were both adults, they wanted more.

So why did he have such a big problem to accept it?

He didn’t know what to answer. He sat on the bed for half an hour before putting the cell phone on the bed and stand up. Suddenly he wanted some wine. To have something sharper, to feel the burning throat and nose that would help him not to think for a moment, and then come to the right answer as if it was lying in front of him all the time. They were saying -  _ there’s true in the wine _ \- right?

He opened the door to his room and walked quietly into the hallway. He was almost entering the kitchen when he noticed that Enjolras and Grantaire had put aside food and drinks and were looking at the screen in front of them in tight hug. Enjolras sat, his head propped up with a pillow, stroking Grantaire’s hair with one hand, the other touching his biceps. Grantaire lay on his chest, his legs bent on the seat, stroking his knee with one hand, and casually slung over him. According to the sounds from the computer, they had already turned off the movie and were watching some stupid sitcom he didn’t know.

He couldn’t stand there longer than a minute when Grantaire leaned back a little and looked at Enjolras. “What?” Enjolras asked with a smile and stopped caressing his hair.

“Just that you're beautiful,” he said, almost breathless, biting his lip. Enjolras laughed softly at his compliment. “Don't laugh like that, or I can’t hold it back anymore,” Grantaire said in a rougher voice.

“Can't hold what?” Enjolras asked, and the tone of his voice made it sound like a challenge. “You would do something to me?”

“You know the answer already,” Grantaire said. The hand that stroked Enjolras’s knee dug into his skin and squeezed his jeans.

“What are you trying to do?” Asked the blond, his gaze darkening.

“What do you think?” Grantaire asked mischievously, and before Enjolras could say anything, he moved his hand to his crotch. Combeferre quickly covered his mouth with his hand. He almost screamed. He was so surprised how simply Grantaire was able to turn an innocent talk to seduction. He stroked him only twice before Enjolras pulled him away and forced Grantaire to sit. “W—”

“No,” Enjolras said again with his typical low, calm voice.

“You don’t want?” Grantaire asked, his eyebrows raised.

“What’s with that look?” Enjolras laughed.

“Well, it would surprise me that you don’t want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's not me who fuck someone in the crowned park after lunch.” Combeferre felt his entire body heavy. He felt that he was slowly turning into stone.

Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s face with his left hand and smiled mischievously. “I don't know which of the two of us screamed louder than is appropriate.”

“I know that very well,” Grantaire said, biting his lip. He knelt down and approached Enjolras. “That was me.” He bent down and tried to kiss his crotch over his trousers. Combeferre thought he might faint on the spot. Before Grantaire could even smell the fabric, Enjolras grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look at him.

“No,” Enjolras said again, this time a little coarser. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Not today Grantaire.”

Grantaire wanted to ask again when he breathed deeply and grunted. “Really?” Enjolras just nodded. “Just because of that.”

_ Because of what?, _ Combeferre asked himself in his head.

“Because of that.”

“Just because foureyes is here?”

_ Because of me?, _ Combeferre felt even more confused.

“Yes, just because of that.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, exasperated and sat down. “He's an adult. A man too. He must clearly know what we’re doing here when he’s not there. What do you think he’s doing in his room now? Is he talking to his girlfriend? Please, don’t make me laugh. The boy had been two years without proper fuck, clearly that he would every spare moment in his life try to have something with his new girl. He’s now jerking off with his swan, I bet you.”

“Just no,” Enjolras said firmly. “You'll have to wait.”

“For fuck say...,” Grantaire whispered, and before he could put himself back on Enjolras’s chest, he felt Enjolras clap his cheek slightly. “What—”

“What I told you about  _ those  _ stupid words.” Enjolras's gaze was suddenly stern. There was something cold in his eyes, but his chest lifted a little faster. Grantaire grimaced and straightened a little. He looked like a student trying to talk back to his teacher.

“That you don’t like them,” Grantaire said in a knowledgeable way, folding his hands in his lap.

“Don't say them then.”

“All right,” Grantaire said, looking at the screen. He smiled and said faintly, “ _ Fucking idiot _ .” Before Combeferre could register what Grantaire had said, Enjolras slapped him slightly on his cheek, digging his fingers into his hair and pulling him close. They rubbed each other’s chest and thighs, their noses pressed against each other. Enjolras’s eyes were closed, breathing deeply. Grantaire looked at him and bit his lip.

“You aren’t listening,” Enjolras whispered angrily.

“Sorry.” Enjolras tugged at Grantaire's hair. “Ah,” he groaned gently in pain and licked his lips. “I’m sorry,  _ sir _ ," he corrected his reply. Enjolras finally looked at him. His pupils were widened, his cheeks rose, his chest rising at incredible speed. Grantaire looked at him, his eyes examining his lips and blinked a few times. “May I?” He asked uncertainty, his finger running over his lips.

Enjolras seemed to think about it. “Just kissing,” he finally agreed, swallowing loudly. “But nothing more, okay?”

“Yes,” Grantaire said enthusiastically, laughing. Before he kissed the younger, he said quietly, “ _ Thank you, sir. _ ” Enjolras pulled his hair and kissed him roughly. Their lips immediately began one. In a moment their tongues appeared between their lips, rubbing themselves together. They looked like two pink diamonds trying to grind to the most expensive form. Enjolras was still ruffling Grantaire’s hair — stroking, sometimes pulling, occasionally he buried his fingers in his thick scalp. It seemed as if two personalities were fighting in him — one who wanted to cuddle with his partner and the other who wanted to make him shout with ecstasy. Surprisingly, Grantaire was a little calmer. He sat beside Enjolras, kissing him, his hands still in his lap. He rubbed them as if making sure he wasn’t allowed to touch Enjolras. _ As if no one allowed him to. _

Combeferre felt hot wave through his body. Why is he still here? He was about to turn around and leave the room, answer his girlfriend, put headphones on, and keep his heels out of the room until morning. Let them enjoy some privacy.

But could he stop? They were—he had no idea how he could think of that in connection with his friends— _ beautiful _ . They were natural, as if they were born to kiss each other. Their lips fit together beautifully. Their bodies rubbed together as if they were pieces of a puzzle to be filled with each other. Enjolras’s cheeks rose to a shade he had never seen before. Grantaire’s hairs was sweating and Enjolras’s fingers rufles, his already restless black hair, curled in all directions.

Enjolras moved both hands onto Grantaire’s face and pulled away from him for a moment. Grantaire whined weakly. “Stick your tongue out,” Enjolras whispered excitedly. Grantaire listened immediately. At first he only stick out the tip. But when Enjolras put it between his lips, he pushed it even more. Enjolras sucked his tongue into his mouth, played with it, rubbed his palate, teeth, his own tongue. He pulled his cheeks back, inflated them again. It looked— it looked like he imagined  _ he was sucking him off. _

Grantaire began to moan. First quietly, almost inaudibly. After some time little louder, louder,  _ louder _ , until a neighbor next door had to hear him. He could hear that he wanted to say something. Maybe some insult again. But Enjolras didn’t allowed him. He sucked his tongue, stroked his cheeks with his hands, wrapping the strands of his hair around his fingers.

Combeferre had no idea how long he stood there. He could feel his lungs burning. He forgot to breathe. He took a deep breath as Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire. Neither heard him. They both breathed quickly, swallowing each other’s saliva, wiping their wet lips. “That's enough,” Enjolras said breathlessly.

“No,” Grantaire shook his head, trying to jump on Enjolras again.

“No,” Enjolras said harshly, pushing Grantaire’s head back on his chest. He put his arm around his neck and pulled him close. “When we’re alone.”

“You're terrible,” Grantaire said angrily .  He took one of Enjolras’s hands in his and laid it on his crotch. “Can you feel it?” The blond boy just laughed and Grantaire grunted angrily. “I hate you,” he grumbled into his chest, hugging him closer.

“Of course,” Enjolras said with a laugh and buried his nose in his lover’s hair. When Combeferre’s eyes traveled lower, to his best friend crotch, he could see, he was in the same state as his boyfriend. He quickly turned away and walked into his room. He unlocked his phone as fast as he could, and finally answered to Odette. 

_ Combeferre: I was surprised, but in nice way. I'd like to stop by. _

__ __ _ Odette: Oh, that’s great! How about this weekend? Sunday maybe? _

__ __ _ Combeferre: I will be there. _

Combeferre threw his cellphone on his bedside table and fell into bed, covering his eyes with his hands. He had dry mouth. He had an even greater taste for alcohol than before. He felt his heart pound. Combeferre moved one hand to the hem of his trousers and slid a little lower. “Damn.” Excitement. He didn't even realize that the throbbing sensation in his groin and abdomen wasn’t from nervousness or shame. He was just excited because of  _ the sight _ . Just by one look. What Grantaire said, how he moaned, how he whimpered — Combeferre had no idea that he would ever be excited by the sound of a moan that sounds as if someone was hurting him. How suddenly Enjolras was dominant — wasn’t he the one fighting for equality? The one who wants everyone to be well, according to their merits and everyone has the right to their opinion? And now he orders and wants to be addressed as  _ sir _ ? Oh,  _ the name _ . Perhaps Combeferre had never considered being in bed someone else than himself.

Combeferre shook his head. He needed to fall asleep. He had to. He tried not to perceive the disgusting feeling that he wanted to force himself to put his hand under his pants and finally jerk off. It has been a long time. He always tried to ignore his erection. He didn’t want to admit that he would make him chase him out of sighs and ideas of his two friend.  _ Men friends _ .

Combeferre fell asleep at dawn. His heart didn’t calm until four in the morning when he slowly saw the sun rise. But he didn’t sleep long. His dreams were clear this time. He saw himself in the living room again, standing in the same place, looking at them. He saw them there. Enjolras and Grantaire. They kissed, moaned. He saw them touching their — clothed — bodies, cuddling, pressing. He heard Grantaire’s  _ “Sir, please.”  _ And Enjolras’s _ “Shut up.” _

When he woke up in the morning, his dick burned even more.

\---

Odetta lived with her parents in a family house in the 20th district. Both were doctors and therefore spent all their time with patients rather than with their family. Her mother worked on rheumatology, her father as an ARO surgeon. They worked in the same hospital to see each other at least while lunch breaks. Odette admired their work since childhood, so it was no surprise that she chose medicine as her dream job. “But I certainly don’t want to work on the same field, I'll choose something else.”

“Let me guess — surely an urgent reception,” Combeferre said as he sat down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

“Not even for a million euros,” Odette protested, sitting beside her boyfriend. She snuggled up to him immediately and put her head on his shoulder. “So far, I was most satisfied with the practice in the puerperium. Not with mothers, but with newborn babies. I was working at the ICU, and despite the horrors the children were experiencing, they never gave up. She leaned her chin on Combeferre’s shoulder and looked into his face. “And you?”

“Certainly urology,” he joked, but immediately added, “Probably pulmonary, too many people don’t want to do it, but it’s not really a hard job and you can do new research there, have unlimited access to laboratories and work closely with infections, so… Maybe this.” Actually, he hadn’t considered that much. He had always imagined being a leading surgeon who would discover a cure for some fatal disease and save millions of lives. But as he grew older, and most importantly, he gained practical experience, his dreams became much more realistic. Today he was thinking that he’d rather do a lower-paid job in a not-fully-declared department, leaving at least a bit of his private life. Seeing all the doctors worrying, sleeping in nurses and swallowing stress and pain pills daily, he knew he didn’t want to fall into that.

Odette pushed herself closer to Combeferre, played the film, and both of them were silent. Combeferre ate quietly, looking at the screen in front of him, feeling Odette’s beating heart against his arms. She was nervous. Her hand was perhaps a little more firmly pressed than he needed. She tapped her foot and fingers. Sometimes she sighed louder, as if she holds breath for a long time. “Everything’s all right?” He asked her when the movie was halfway and Odette stroked his elbow for twenty minutes already.

“Sure,” she said, a little rushed, focusing on the screen again. Combeferre didn’t comment it. He finished eating popcorn and when the movie was over, they let the headlines run and Odette offered to bring some drink. She returned to the living room with two glasses of red wine. Combeferre thanked her softly, sipped and grunted. “Good?” She asked cautiously, and also sipped.

“Very good,” he said truthfully, and laughed when he saw her twisted face. “But you don't like it.”

“I actually don’t drink that much.” She set the glass down on the table and looked at Combeferre, who was sipping slowly. “I'm glad you like it. I didn’t even know if you were drinking wine, but I thought —  _ hey, we’re both French, he certainly likes wine _ , so I risked it.”

“I like white wine more, but once in a while I also like red. Actually, I’ve had a taste for it since our last date.”

“Seriously? So we could drink, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I didn't—” _ I didn't want to drink it with you, but with my two friends. With friends who, after I left to answer your message, started kissing. No romance, no tenderness. Only the two of them, their excitement, gasping, groaning. I wanted to look at them and sip wine and moan in bliss at the taste of red liquor like the two of them over each other’s lips.  _ Combeferre quickly drank the whole glass and placed it on the table. “—It doesn’t matter now,” he said, wiping his hands on his thighs. They were wet. Because he remembered—

“Are you okay? You're suddenly all red...”

“The alcohol,” he lied. “It works very quickly on me.”

“Oh,” Odette said, something glittering in her eyes. Something Combeferre couldn’t name yet. He didn’t know if he liked it or not. Odette clutched him again, staring into his face for a moment. They were silent, just watching each other. “You have really beautiful eyes,” she whispered softly, giggling.

“You're not very used to compliment someone, are you?”

“My ex wasn’t much into that, and in truth, there wasn’t much to praise,” she said, and smiled sadly as he remembered her ex-boyfriend she had lived with for almost two years. “What about you?”

“I? When I see something beautiful, I say it. I like to offer my obeisances, but only when they are justified.” That wasn’t entirely true. Combeferre was mainly a gentleman. He was able to flatter anything, even if it wasn’t so good. His main weapon was refined behavior. He knew how to impress and make girls feel good with him. “That’s why I can say you’re really beautiful.” With that, he stroked her hair and finally touched her ear with his fingers. Odette shuddered and closed her eyes. He said quietly, “Long time?”

“A year,” she said after a moment of silence. “A few boys have appeared in my life, but nothing worth mentioning.” She closed her eyes as she felt Combeferre start to stroking her hair. “You?”

“Two years,” he said truthfully. “And a few girls in between, but nothing worth mentioning,” he repeated her sentence, and Odette smiled at him. She opened her eyes and held out her hand. She stroked his cheek, and Combeferre turned his head so he could kiss the inside of her hand. Odette clung to him even more, and Combeferre leaned over to kiss.

In the four months they had lunch, drank coffee, and talked about everything; it was the best kiss they ever had. No rush, no roughness. Both were a little nervous. They were in no hurry. At first the lips were rubbing against each other. Almost as if they were afraid the other would run away. Gradually, only slowly, they began to kiss gently.

Combeferre tried, really felt he was  _ trying,  _ to feel something more. Especially when Odette sighed gently and put one hand on his chest. He wanted his heart pounding like her. He wanted to think about how he would prefer to opened all her clothes and put them on the couch so they could enjoy the feeling of their warm bodies. He wanted to think about sleeping and waking up next to her in the morning, both still naked and ready for the next round.

But — nothing happened to him. He could feel the kissing, but _he_ _didn't feel anything._ As if his body hadn’t noticed that his girlfriend was offering him. He couldn’t sense her taste, neither her breath, nor her hands stroking his body. He felt like a piece of ice, and Odette was his flood that couldn’t melt him.

_ What's happening?  _ He asked himself and began to feel a dumpling in his throat. He didn’t kissed badly. According to the sounds she made, neither he. He loved kissing, maybe even more than making love. It seemed to him to be extremely intimate in something, and it always made him crazy.

But now? Nothing. Absolutely _ nothing _ .

Combeferre grunted. Odette smiled in their kisses. She probably thought he was as excited as she was. Her fingers dug into his chest and clung to him. Combeferre could feel her heart pounding, her hot body clinging to him.

And still — nothing.

Combeferre clenched his fist. He didn’t want to pull Odette away. He wanted to try a little more. It didn’t work. He just wasn’t in the mood, right? He was starting to getting bored. Y _ esterday, Enjolras and Grantaire were definitely not bored.  _ Combeferre gasped and opened his eyes. Odette’s eyes were closed tightly, so she didn’t noticing how he suddenly froze. Will he really try to think of his two best friends who—

_ were so beautifully glued on each other, they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. Grantaire, who couldn't touch Enjolras's body because his  _ master  _ hadn't allowed it. Enjolras, who enjoyed the position of the dominant man who brings his partner into ecstasy with his lips. _

—Combeferre groaned. For the first time, since they had kissed, he was really groaning. He felt it. Suddenly he felt a little excited. When a memory appeared in his eyes—

_ as their tongues knit together and explored each other's mouth. The thin saliva that appeared between their lips. The eagerness to kiss again and continue until dawn began. The lips that flushed. Probably from biting each other softly. _

—Combeferre’s tongue got into her mouth. For the first time he felt how hot her lips were. For the first time, he could taste her. A bit bitter after the wine, but he felt a bit of cherries and lemon. He himself must taste salty of popcorn—

_ Enjolras loved sweet food. Although Grantaire drank several beers and ate savory sandwiches, his appetite had to beat all the food. It must have tasted so sweet that Enjolras couldn't get enough of the taste. How else could he explain that he was so hungry about him? As if he wanted to eat all his mouth. Suck out the last sweet piece he found. But Enjolras, after all that chips, had to taste salty. Even under normal circumstances. He didn't eat much, drank a lot of coffee, sometimes he was too lazy to prepare something, so he ate the first thing he saw. Mainly salt crisps. He was used to the salty taste. Maybe that's why... Maybe that's why he liked sucking Grantaire’s dick. When he felt the taste of his skin, sweat, and  _ seeds _. _

—He moved his hand to her waist and pressed her against him. He felt their kiss deepen even more. His other hand stroked her throat. His hand at her waist began to move slowly up—

_ He knew he had done it at least once. At least once, their brave, heroic, sometimes arrogant leader, knelt in front of their cynical artist, and gave him a delight he had never experienced. What was it like? To smell Grantaire's scent in mouth and nose? Feel Enjolras' hot, wet, red lips around cock? _

_ — _ Odette groaned loudly as she felt how Combeferre touched her breast. He didn’t squeeze it, just stroked it gently and held it in his hand. She tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. Combeferre was half-pressed on her and she felt on her thigh—

_ Oh, God, how often did they do that? How often did they taste each other? He was afraid to admit it, but he'd heard it several times. Several times he didn’t intentionally inform Enjolras that he was going home sooner. Several times, waiting in the door, he set his ears, didn’t turn light on the hallway, and waited. He was waiting to hear something. _

—She felt blood rushing into her ears. Her cheeks burned completely.—

_ If he would hear Grantaire's wails and blissful curse again. If he would hear Enjolras's voice again, shout out in the greatest ecstasy— _

“Combeferre.”

The brown haired boy opened his eyes. He quickly pulled away from Odette. She almost fell on the sofa. She quickly grabbed the armrests, staring breathlessly at Combeferre, who had dilated pupils, red lips, red cheeks, and breathed much faster than her. But he had a terrified look on his face. As if he suddenly remembered something terrible. She wanted to say something, but Combeferre got up quickly, grabbed his backpack, and ran into the hall. “W-wait... Wait!” She cried in terror, rising quickly from the sofa and running after him. Combeferre was already putting on his jacket and tossing his backpack over his back. “Wait,” she whispered helplessly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said harshly, not even looking at her. “It’s me.” With that he opened the door and slammed them behind him. He hoped the loud sound would wake him up a bit. Erase what he was thinking about. He get to the bus stop as quickly as possible. He could feel Odette staring at him from the window, trying to tap on him, shout something. Before he got on the bus, his cellphone vibrated in his pocket. He knew that was message from her. He didn’t wanted to read it. He didn’t wanted to answer.

He arrived at the apartment sooner than he had expected. Maybe he was hoping to sleep somewhere else today. He thinked that tonight he would end his involuntary two-year celibacy. He walked into the room and fell into bed. He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. He was mad at himself. Did he really think about — and did he really get excited? Just thank to this? The thought of his friends?

He slammed his fist into the pillow and immediately buried his head in it, screaming in exhaustion.

He needed it just like a cold shower.

\---

Anyone who looked at Combeferre suspected that he wasn’t a womanizer. At the beginning a little cold, not very accessible and very calm boy, whose face was framed by black frames and always perfectly washed, brown hair. He dressed well, always stood straight, speaking in a deeper but pleasant voice. He was a little talkative with his friends at times, he liked jokes, he liked to be in a company where intellectual discussions were taking place. Alcohol did almost nothing to him, he liked to dance, knew the answer to almost everything. He always treated women like a true gentleman.

Maybe that was discouraging all the girls. Not that they thought he would be bored with him, but they knew Combeferre was picky. Every girl chose someone “worse”, someone she didn’t really think about, just not to face the embarrassing humiliation of his refusal.

That was why Combeferre didn’t have a long list of ex girlfriends. He didn’t know how to flirt, so all his attempts usually ended in a label —  _ good friend _ . Therefore, he hoped his signals — pleading long stare, a drink or a sweet dessert as surprise, or unobtrusive touches — would be clear enough to understand that he was available, and that romance was not strange to him. But only a few were able to reach the second date.

When he was sixteen, he first kissed a girl. Classmate Sophie. She had long, red hair and big green eyes. She was beautiful, clever, and in all respects Combeferre's type. Their kiss was too long, too shaggy, too wet. But whenever he could kiss her after school at the subway station, he felt like it was supposed to be. Their paths broke when they went to high school.

Second girl in his life was Marie-Anna, a student of the same school. She was courageous, funny, and had the most beautiful body he had ever seen. Mainly breasts. When they first met at his home, he couldn’t resist, and touched them. He did that every time they met. She was the first girl who had to roll over his back at night because he couldn’t sleep on his stomach because of an erection.

But he lost his virginity with Helen, a classmate from the same class, whom he had overlooked for four years. She was quiet and not really pretty. She loved fantasy and liked to draw in her workbook that she didn’t let go of. Combeferre started dating her before leaving school, slept with each other for a month and breaking up after. She helped him get rid of that terrible pressure in the lower abdomen; he give her courage to become a little more courageous.

Thanks to his demanding studies, he did almost the same in college. He had only three partners. Michele was confident, loved to travel, and her biggest dream was to work for _Doctors Without Borders_. In the beginning, they kept going to cinemas and theaters, but over time they began to get too used to each other. They had been dating for a year, feeling they were choking each other already. They broke up because of their rational tales, which clearly told them that they were not created for the other. Claire was the opposite of Michele — she was quiet, tender, loving. She loved long dresses, always combing her hair, and always wore a gold necklace with a blue stone she received from her ex partner. He tragically died in a car accident which he wasn’t responsible of. Combeferre knew he was only someone to replace him for a few moments. But in those six months he had experienced the wildest sex he couldn’t even imagine. Elodie was such a golden center — she had something of everything. She was honest, but sometimes brazen enough. She was nice, but she loved arguing. She was clever, but he bothered how badly she could sometimes swear. Four months was enough to know that Elodie still needed someone around her, and when she left, he only regretted that he had no one to lie in bed and kiss for all night. It was her who could kiss him for hours and only make him crazy with her lips. Thanks to it, he recognized that his lips were his largest erogenous zone.

But she was also the last to warm his bed in his life. Sometimes he met someone, have few drinks, have good time. But nothing to move somewhere further. Combeferre didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He had tried various ways of seduction — from direct invitations, through hints, letters from the "secret worshiper", changing his hairstyle, completely rearranging his wardrobe and the clothes he wore — but nothing was effective enough to improve himself. At twenty-three, he gave up and simply hoped that some girl would noticed and seduces him. That's why he was on his bed at twenty-five, with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling, listening to his  _ I-think-you-were-pruden-and-don’t-know-what-sex-is _ roommate and friend from the next room making love, not knowing he was there, quiet.

Life simply didn’t seem fair to him. 

\---

Dates with Odette began to shorten gradually. He called her and messaged her minimally. They still meet each other in the library, in the café, hold hands, kissed at the bus stops; but every time Odette tried a little more or invited him to her home again; he refused. He always said he had a lot of work, too many things for school, a roommate waiting for him, meeting with friends, seeing sisters, helping his mother, just  _ something _ . Odette always smiled at him, said she understood and drove home.

Combeferre felt he would be single soon.

A month later, after passing an exam in gastroenterology and neurological surgery; he got home tired, overwhelmed, and maybe a little annoyed. His shoulders and neck ached from the constant bending over the books. He had a feeling Odette had sucked out his last desire to talk and think of anything at all. It was after eight in the evening, but the apartment was dark and silent. Enjolras and Grantaire went to a rock festival for the weekend. It was Grantaire’s idea, and he was still surprised that Enjolras accepted it.

He made tea, ate a hard croissant with a piece of ham, and walked into the bathroom. The hot water relaxed his stiff muscles for a moment. He walked into the room naked, where he took loose shorts and an old shirt that he wore only to sleep. He didn’t want to start any of school projects right now. He didn't even want to talk with Odette, although he could see on the phone’s display that he already had five unread messages from her. He wasn’t in the mood to do anything at all.

He lay in bed with his computer. He started with watching a sitcom, who became annoying rather than entertaining after some time; then he played some videos on youtube and after five minutes he just played relaxing music. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

It had been a long time since he had time just for himself. Long since he last—

Combeferre opened his eyes. Did he really think that it had been a long time since he last _masturbated_? True, earlier, especially from the beginning of his unwanted celibacy, it was something he had done every night before bed. Every night. He was almost obsessed with the soothing feeling after, and he knew this was the only thing that made him happy, sleepy, but always so relaxed that made him energetic the next day. The frequency changed over time, and he have time for this only once a month in the bathroom, when his inner voices shouted at him that there’s too much work he needed to do. A few touches stopped them. He had been dating Odette for a good three months now. And he didn’t remember when was the last time he jerked off. 

He smiled. He was alone in the apartment, had nothing to do, it was too early to go to bed. There is definitely nothing wrong with focusing on yourself after such a long time. He enthusiastically turned his gaze back to the computer, opened an anonymous browser, and tapped only one word —  _ porn _ . Several pages of adult content appeared immediately. He clicked at the most famous one. Not because it was his favorite, but despite the excitement, he could still think rationally. Mainly because he didn’t want his computer to be full of viruses. Perhaps he never wanted to get into a situation where he had to explain why his computer broke.

He shook his head. This wasn’t necessary now.

The screen in front of him changed. All the videos were almost glowing on the black background. Combeferre swallowed dry. Just the thought of wanting to look at something forbidden excited him, and he felt a twitch in his crotch. He read the titles of the videos, looked at the previews, and made a loud noise over each of the other videos.

This was perhaps one of his problems. He was picky. Even in this case. He didn’t like it when the shots were too vulgar and he couldn’t get excited when he didn’t see anything. He chose women who were not wearing too much makeup, had loose hair, rather small breasts, slender figures, long legs. She mustn’t have artificial breasts or keep high heels while being nude. He wasn’t interested in the guys in the video, but if they had  _ too small  _ or  _ too long _ dick, it somehow bothered him. Choosing a couple to please his eye wasn’t that hard. It was worse with acting and directing skills.  _ “That really matters to you?” _ Courfeyrac asked him once, both of them drunk at Bossuet’s birthday party.  _ “The most important part is that they fuck so hard that you go blind while cumming, right?” _ But it wasn’t enough for Combeferre. Nothing could spoil his mood more than a bad camera angle or faked orgasm and excited screams.

Combeferre clicked on the first video — a beautiful girl, very young, completely naked; man somewhere in age of sixty. No. Next. The second video — a beautiful girl, dressed in a maid's suit, opposite her, a man who seemed to have an erection for about a year. No. Next. Third video — beautiful people, but something was missing. No. Next. Fourth video — he didn’t even look at the actor when he began to irritate how bad the cameraman was holding the camera and filming. No. Next.

Combeferre sighed. How easy it would be if he wasn’t that demanding. He stopped clicking between videos and had the whole page loaded. When he opened the fifth page, he sighed again. How is it possible that even if he wants to, he still has to think that it must meet all his expectations? He felt a little bored.

He already wanted to shut down the page, and finally read a book, when he felt twitch in his crotch again. He stopped scrolling and looked at the preview that immediately caught his attention. He clicked on it and began to wiggle on the bed as soon as the video began to play in front of him. He didn’t normally watch this kinds videos. It was amateur production, the camera in the man's hand sometimes shook a little. The man was sitting on armchair, only his body could be seen from the waist down. A naked girl was kneeling before him; thanks to her position, he could only see her narrow shoulders. She had a pair of rings on her hands. She was blond, blue-eyed, she was no more than twenty. She wasn’t looking at the camera, but at the face of her partner, who stroked her cheek and whispered something. The girl smiled at once, unbuttoning her partner’s trousers belt, zipper, and immediately began to care about his already hard cock.

Combeferre took a deep breath, spread his legs a little, and began to stroke his dick over his underwears. He felt a slow start to respond. Sounds, silent moans, touches. Everything was much more intimate than professional output. He could see that they were both partners in reality. Combeferre shuddered. Just the thought of looking at a  _ real _ relationship —  _ real sex _ — excited him. He never knew that he would like something so badly filmed.

The girl never looked at the camera. Just in the eyes of her partner. Despite her mouth, she could still smile sometimes. After a moment the man said in husky voice, “ _ You're such a good boy _ .”

Combeferre threw himself into a sitting position and quickly paused the video. His heart pounded and he immediately pulled his hand from his crotch. He moved the mouse back on the red axis a few seconds and played the same passage again. The man said again,  _ “You're such a good boy.”  _ Combeferre paused the video again. His eyes focused on the page header. “No, no, no,” he began to whisper to himself as he noticed the side of the page standing in capital letters  _ “GAY” _ . “How—how—  _ how _ ?” He asked himself as if expecting someone to answer him. How did he get there? He quickly clicked back and looked at the page from which he had reached one of the main categories. There was nothing about the boys in the title, there was nothing to indicate clearly that they were two men, actually the only reason he clicked on the video was a preview. Preview of a boy he mistook for a girl. “Well, it can happen to everyone,” he said, even though the inner voice kept asking him,  _ “Are you really sure about that?” _

He sat there for a moment looking at the preview. The boy — he still couldn't believe it was  _ a boy  _ — looked at him with the same innocent look like before. Why did he actually look at it? It didn’t meet his requirements, what he normally sought. Different figures, different way of shooting, totally different porn than he knew.

The only thing that came to his mind was how much the boy look like Enjolras. Combeferre almost froze. Did he really look at it just because he reminded him of his roommate? Sure, this boy had a slightly rounder face, a smaller forehead, a pointy nose; but he had the same pink cheeks, large, blue, innocent eyes, and his hair were as soft and deep blond as Enjolras’s. And the man, whom he by the sounds _ so perfectly sucked _ , had a tattoo on his thigh. Just like Grantaire.

He swallowed dry. His hand trembled a little as he clicked the back button and the video started playing exactly where he left off. Only now had he noticed the core and flatness of his chest, which overlapped his partner’s knees. Did he really—

He paused the video. He stared at the bright letters in the header for a moment, thinking. He never looked at gay porn. He had no need to look at it. Even in his adolescence years, he had no idea to look out of curiosity. Although he was meeting Courfeyrac, which could shout nasty things at hot boys on the street; Bahorel, who would kill anyone who laughed at his orientation; and Enjolras, who was his best friend and nothing like his sexual preference was important to him; he had never thought what it would be like to kiss a boy. He didn’t mind, but he knew this wasn’t for him.

So why, at the age of twenty-five with burning erection in his lap, was he wondering if he should watch other videos of the same category?

The night was still young. Combeferre was home alone. He never risked. In fact, he lived in a quite calm and sometimes a bit routine and boring cycle. Sometimes it needed a change.

He didn’t know if the curiosity or the excitement of the unknown was the fault; but his heart pounded when he clicked on the main heading and reached the rainbow page. He was almost startled when a huge advertisement appeared on the main page with a half-naked man trying to lure him into seeing a new, paid image with — he hadn't heard that name in his life, but according to the feedback and likes, he was some big star. There were words in the video titles that he didn’t understand at all.  _ “Daddy kink”  _ discouraged him, only with the affection for the incest. Under the English word  _ “bear” _ , should he imagine a real bear? And — What the hell was a  _ “twink” _ ?

Combeferre was lost. He had no idea what to watch. If he should watch anything at all. He felt like he was attacking a territory from which he should disappear as quickly as possible. He was already really convinced that in his case it would be better to look at some of the  _ weird hentai stuff _ when he noticed one video. He almost overlooked him. It was at the very bottom of the page. There were two young men, dressed, in each other's arms, lying on their bed. They both looked pretty young. He read  _ “boyfriends” _ in the video title. His cock twitched again in his underwear. He looked around the room as if expecting someone to grab him and want some explanation. After making sure he was alone, he lay down again and clicked on the video.

_ The light was lit in the room. Large, double bed without duvets and pillows. The boys sat on the edge of the bed. One looked very young. He had beautiful blond hair to his shoulders, almost transparent skin, very thin, and long legs. The other was probably the same age as Combeferre, with thick, black hair in a ponytail, muscles hands, dressed very modern, and a piercing in his mouth. The boys started kissing, gently stroking their hands, thighs. It was obvious that the video was filmed on a tripod without a cameraman. It was another amateur production. From gentle touches, delightful glances and nervous laughter, it was clear that they were real partners. _

Only the thought of looking into someone’s bedroom and looking at  _ real lovemaking _ filled him with excitement. His  _ pride  _ began to call for attention. This time Combeferre was not idle. He slipped his hand under the edge of his boxers and gently touched the swollen veins of his cock. He took hold of his hand and began moving his right hand up up and down, up and down, over and over. His left hand rested under his head; and he focused on the video again.

_ The boys began to undress slowly. The black haired revealed his tattooed chest, which the blond boy started kissing hungrily. He immediately focused on one of the nipples. The brunette began to sigh, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. _

Was it really that pleasant? He never ever touched himself that way. None of the girls paid any attention to his chest. He pulled his hand under his head and curiously touched one of his nipples. It hardened under a gentle touch. He hissed. It was nice, yes. But it was a little strange. Like everything he tried for the first time.

_ “Come here,” said the brunette, putting the younger one on his back. Experienced, he took his pants and underwear away in one quick stroke. Immediately, the blackhead lay on his stomach and put his partners cock entire in his mouth. The blond man leaned his head back and arched his back. _

Combeferre groaned. How much he would like to try it! But he had never date a girl who would suggest it. They all felt they _ had to _ do it and they were  _ expected to do so _ . That made Combeferre nervous. It didn’t feel good to him. He always told them they didn’t have to, and they obeyed him. He never complained about it. Although he wanted to ask so many times, and in excitement almost  _ beg _ for the first blowjob in his life. He smiled. It was his second video with men, and for the second time there was a blow job—

_ Enjolras and Grantaire do that too. _

—Combeferre’s hand stopped for a moment. Will he really try to think of the two now? Now, when he’s holding his hot cock in one hand and watching porn—

_ Where are the boys so much like them? _

—He looked at the screen where the black hair was still taking care of his boyfriend’s dick, and approached the screen. Did they really resemble them? After all, the black-haired was certainly taller and had longer hair than Grantaire;  _ but he was equally dense, restless, and tattooed _ . After all, the blond was very submissive and nervous, not like Enjolras;  _ but he also had the same color and length of hair, a shaved body, and was pretty silent _ . Both were also  _ boyfriends _ .

His hand speeded up a little. Maybe they looked a bit like them—

_ but he heard Enjolras do this to Grantaire, not the other way around. But when he saw them kissing each other, it was Enjolras who seemed dominant. Then why wouldn’t he like Grantaire to kneel in front of him? On his knees, hands behind his back, without the possibility of touching himself. Mouth ready to be fucked. _

—Combeferre bit his lip. He almost moaned. He had never been very loud, but at times, when he felt very horny, he managed to make a few delightful sounds out of himself. He closed his eyes. He listened to the sounds from the video and projected in his head an image that excited him much more than the Internet site offered him—

_ Enjolras would have stood there looking at him, stroking his hair, tugging them from time to time. He would force Grantaire to take it all in his mouth. He wouldn’t say anything, ask if he even wanted it. He wanted it. As always. Because Grantaire was willing to do everything for Enjolras, be the one who receives everything. Enjolras would take advantage of it. Maybe more than he should. He would slam his hips into his hot heat, silently addressing him with vulgar names he didn't mean seriously. He would let him choke on his cock, be drunk by his scent, and want only his hot— _

_ — _ “ _ Shit _ ,” Combeferre whispered softly as he felt he’s approaching the  _ top _ . Just a few moves. He bit his lip not to groan aloud when he came. He didn’t want the neighbors to find out what he was doing here. Enough to have them suffer every time Grantaire slept here.

Only the memory of his friend’s name made him open his eyes. His hand was stuck, he felt how hot his body was. Sounds from the video still flowed from the computer. Combeferre looked at the ceiling, trying to exhale the orgasm. He relaxed, but— _ but did he really think of sex among his friends? _

His stomach tightened with shame.

\---

Every month, Jehan organized parties in his apartment. They included hookah smoking, drinking alcohol, and listening to relaxing, instrumental music. His apartment was much smaller with a large, soft couch in the middle of the room, cotton pillows scattered on the ground, and several flowers of all kinds on furniture and shutters. His friends, however, always felt relaxed there, lying on the floor, on the couch, sitting between the doors on the balcony where he grew weed and sunflowers. All of the Les Ámis came to him, they came there not to discuss the problems of the world again, but to have a friendly conversation, get a little high and to have fun with each other.

Combeferre sat in his usual place on the edge of the couch, sipping from a beer, with a soft, plush, purple pillow on his stomach. His head was resting, listening to relaxing music and being carried away by the pleasant feeling of alcohol. His exam period was over, and he needed to turn off for a moment.

“You know, I never actually saw you both kiss.” Combeferre opened his eyes and looked to the right where Feuilly was sitting, propping his head up and looking at Enjolras and Grantaire. They sat side by side on a large pillow, Enjolras read some thick book and drank juice while Grantaire’s head leaned on his shoulder, his eyes closed, and third glass of cola with rum in him. Everyone looked curiously at Feuilly, who had pink cheeks. He didn't even know if it was because what he said or because all the wine he already drank. “Not that I want to force you into anything, I just wonder, w-why don't you kiss before us?”

Before Feuilly could turn more red, Jehan joined him. “That's true,” he said rather to himself, looking at the couple on his left. “Why?” He asked the same question.

“Well, why, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked with a smile on his face.

Enjolras put the book down and looked at his boyfriend, who blinked innocently at him. “You know very well why,” he said, as if it was clear. It was probably not the first time they were talking about it. At least with each other. “I'm not the type that show too much affection on public. You know how much I don't like being kissed at stops, at the cinema, at cafes, just anywhere where there are too many strangers.”

“But we’re not strangers,” Bahorel said, finishing his beer and reaching for another. “You can do it before us.” He looked at all the friends in the room. “—I believe none of us will mind.”

“I would even welcome it,” Courfeyrac said with his typical grin.

“I would be afraid for what reason, you pervert,” Grantaire said, wrapping his arms around Enjolras's waist. “We just do it at home, alone.” Enjolras began to stroking him in his thick hair. For a moment, it seemed that everyone would turn to their drinks and own thoughts. But Combeferre noticed how gently Enjolras pulled Grantaire’s hair. Unobtrusively, he barely noticed it. Grantaire looked into his boyfriend’s face and made a questioning sound. Enjolras just smiled at him, and before Combeferre could read from their gaze what was going on in their heads, they both leaned in and kissed each other. Just gently, briefly. It was quiet, innocent. Almost like a kiss of two young children. As they pulled away, they smiled at each other and snuggled together again. Bahorel whistled inappropriately. “Shut up Bahorel, I'm trying to relax,” Grantaire said angrily and buried his head in Enjolras’s shoulder again and closed his eyes. Enjolras dug himself into the pillow, closed his eyes, still stroking Grantaire’s hair with his hand. There was a pleasant silence in the room. They all immersed themselves in their own thoughts.

Except for Combeferre. The beer bottle was close to his lips, but he couldn’t drink, still looking toward the two. He swallowed, put his beer on the table, and got up from the couch. He said nothing, just walked to the balcony door and went out. He took a deep breath of fresh, summer air and leaned against the railing. The sun was already setting and it was getting dark. His chest burned a little, there was strange itch in his throat, his hands sweating a little, he felt a warmth in his lower abdomen. He clenched his fingers into the railing, trying not to panic.

“Are you okay?” Combeferre turned. Jehan stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water in his hand. He entered the balcony, closed door behind him, and leaned his elbows on the rail beside Combeferre. He handed the glass to the older man, who only nodded his thanks. When he gulp a few times, he placed the glass on the windowsill and leaned back against the railing. “Okay?” He asked him again, and Combeferre just nodded. “You left right after…” He paused for a moment. He needed to group his thoughts so he wouldn’t offend any of his three friends.

“Oh, no, don't worry, it's not because they... kissed.”

“It didn't look like that though. Enjolras wanted to follow you. I stopped him,” Jehan said truthfully, pulling a joint from his pocket. “They don’t have much free time for each other now.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” He still heard them occasionally from Enjolras’s room or living room when he came home earlier or when no one expected him; but it happened less. “I was afraid something had happened between them,” he said truthfully.

“The two of them will stay together until death, I bet you on this spot,” Jehan laughed, smoking slowly. “Why do you think it wouldn't last between them?” Everyone knew that Combeferre wasn’t happy about their relationship. Even Enjolras and Grantaire. Grantaire didn’t care, but Enjolras cares too much about it, especially at the beginning. Jehan was worried about them then. To Enjolras, friends meant everything and he was able to prioritize their happiness over his own. Fortunately, it turned out that the relationship with the brunette was still one step higher.

“Because now I see trouble in relationships everywhere.” He looked at Jehan and added, “I broke up with Odette.”

“I’m sorry,” Jehan said truthfully and wrapped his arms around Combeferre.

He just smiled at him. “You know, the relationship… it wasn’t really a relationship either.”

“But Enjolras said you were happy again after a long time. Especially the last month.”

Yes. Last month. The last month he was watching porn with two boys who were similar to his friends. How was he supposed to look after a strong orgasm? Annoyed? Horrified? Shyly? It has passed. The first time he did it, yes, he felt something like shame and almost couldn’t look Enjolras’ face the next day; but after a few more nights with the same video, it passed. He found he could return to the apartment sooner, hear them make love and not be annoyed by it. Rather pleasantly surprised. Sometimes he did it almost on purpose. He told Enjolras that after school he’s going to Odette’s house. But instead of date, he went home early, stood in the hallway, listened to them. He listened to Grantaire’s moans, Enjolras’s orders, the creaking of the bed, the sounds of slapping bodies. He could feel his erection beating and looking forward to the only thing — when he closed himself in his room, he would load a video played hundreds of times and begin to satisfy himself. He had never seen it to the end, he always came before the blond could undress the black-haired man and return his service. He felt always relaxed but more importantly _happy_. He couldn't hide it.

Combeferre swallowed dry. The heat in his lower abdomen was warmer. “It just happens.”

“I'm sorry,” Jehan repeated, smiling at him. “I'm sure you’ll find someone soon.”

“Certainly,” Combeferre said ironically.

“Stop it, we have Grantaire for that,” Jehan said seriously, stroking his shoulder. “I feel in bones that you will soon have someone.”

“But not who I want.”

“What?” Combeferre looked at Jehan, his eyes glowing. “Is there  _ someone _ ?”

Combeferre didn’t know. True, he had been wondering lately if his sudden interest in the sex life of his friends meant he was in love with one of them. But the answer came almost immediately. He wasn’t. He liked Grantaire, but only as a friend; he was bothered by his cynical view of the world. He had a nice, tattooed body, always thinking about how much it had to hurt and whether pain was something Grantaire was enjoying; but he never thought he would want to cause him any pain and wanted to touch his tattoo from other than curiosity. Enjolras was his closest friend. They knew almost everything about each other. They almost read their thoughts. He was most afraid of being in love with him. But he knew now he wasn’t. Enjolras was like a brother to him, a blood twin he never had.

Yet he couldn’t get enough of their love making. Every time Enjolras wrote to him that Grantaire would stay overnight, he hoped to hear them. He even stood before the door of Enjolras’ room in the hope that he might see something — but he only heard Grantaire’s loud snoring and Enjolras’s rolls on the bed.

“No.” Jehan raised both eyebrows. “Really.”

“Your gaze shows something else.”

He didn't know if it was alcohol; the release that absorbed him; or the fact that he simply couldn’t lie to Jehan. “I'm watching porn.”

Jehan was silent for a moment. When Combeferre said nothing, he blinked and asked, “And? Is that all?” He placed steaming joint on the windowsill beside the glass and leaned his back against the railing. “Everyone watch it sometimes.”

“No, that's not it,” Combeferre said, looking down from the balcony. He could feel a goosebump on his calves. They were on the seventh floor. He always had respect from heights. “They look like them.”

“They?”

“Those in the video.” He looked at Jehan, who looked confused. “There's someone I love a lot. Maybe too much. Not lovingly, but friendly. We respect each other, we understand each other. We’ve known each other insanely good. But something has changed since…  _ my friend _ started date someone.”

“Behavior towards you?”

“I've changed,” he confessed, defeated. “At the beginning it was strange to see them together. They didn’t have to much in common. If I look at it now, maybe I was jealous. Or I was afraid of being pushed aside. Don’t really know. But none of this has happened. Sure, they’re often together now, but I'm actually glad for that. It helped them. Both. They needed the relationship. At the beginning I didn’t love  _ the other boy  _ much, because I rather saw only his flaws. But then I began to realize how distorted I saw him.”

“So this boy isn’t a problem?”

“No. The problem is that after some time I started… I started acting strange. Search for situations that are not appropriate at all. And if they found them, because they are both even more friends to me now than they were before; it would be a terrible betrayal of trust. They would stop talking to me. I know it.” If he was a little more sensitive, he would surely start to cry.

“What are you doing?” Jehan asked cautiously.

“Porn. I do… I watch videos where the people are similar to them. And not only to whom I know for a long time, but also to their partner. I look at two completely strangers who are at least a bit like them, and I think what it would be like if they were there.” Combeferre closed his eyes and hung his head a little. “I was afraid I fell in love. But that’s not it. I don’t want them in  _ that way _ . I want them to be together. To be happy. To keep making love. So I still have reason to watch the videos.”

Jehan was silent. Combeferre didn’t find it uncomfortable. In fact, he was quite glad he could say it someone. Jehan never judged anyone. He was a willow for everyone, someone to whom everybody would come to confide when there was too much. “You're a voyeur.”

Combeferre turned sharply and frowned. “Come again.”

“You’re a voyeur,” Jehan said with a smile.

“I'm not—”

“You’re a voyeur” he said firmly.

“Can you stop?” Combeferre asked, slightly hurted. He didn’t expect that from Jehan. “I'm not a pervert.”

“I'm not saying you’re a  _ pervert _ , just a  _ voyeur _ ,” Jehan corrected, and before Combeferre could leave, he took him by the shoulders and turned him toward him. “Listen,” he said seriously, looking into his eyes. “We all have at least one small deviation inside us. Something that excites us. Something we may not even want to admit, but by its very nature, it makes us who we are. There's nothing wrong with that. Remember it. What you do is not perhaps the healthiest, but it does not hurt anyone. I understand that when I said it so straightforward, you might have imagined an old man walking naked in the park and jumping out of the bushes—”

“That's exhibitionism,” Combeferre corrected.

“—I would say it if you let me finish,” Jehan said, pursing his lips delightfully. “I should have realized that I was talking to someone smarter than the books we all read. Okay, so differently. Do you know what voyeurism is?”

“Of course I know,” Combeferre said, and when Jehan raised his eyebrows, he sighed and added, “It's a man who is pleased to see other people’s intimate lives. From changing clothes to sex.”

“Exactly,” Jehan said. “Most voyors are focused on everything that excites them, whether they are the strange guys who look at everyone in the showers or look through binoculars through the windows; but you, like the romantic you are in your heart, even if you try to deny it; you have a slightly different taste. You're a romantic voyeur.”

“Nothing like that exist.”

“Maybe for you,” Jehan said, finally letting go. “You care about them. Both of them. And the idea of them being happy, loved, satisfied; excites you. When you search for porn, besides the people, is there anything else the same? Think about it.”

“Probably not—”

“Partners in real life? Amateurs videos? A hidden camera?” Combeferre paused. “It was immediately clear to me. Combeferre, you are excited to see the intimate life of the two people you care about. It’s not about making love to them, but being part of their love. The bond between them excites you.” Combeferre felt as if someone had just come up with the answer to the most difficult puzzle in his life. He opened his mouth slightly. He wanted to say something, but he was so surprised he didn’t get anything out of himself. “Maybe if you saw it live, really, the two you are talking about; everything would be solved. Maybe you wouldn’t like it, and all those feelings would disappear. Or, on the contrary, you would love it so much that it would finally satisfy you so that you would never want to see it again and move on. Or who knows, perhaps they would eventually want you to join them and be a threesome like Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta.” They both laughed at the thought.

“Never. I don’t love them. Not like that.”

“Never say  _ never _ .” With that, Jehan walked around, already opening the door back to the living room as he turned back to Combeferre and looked into his face. “I'm sorry about Odette again. But I’m glad we finally talked. That expression on your face annoyed me.” With that, they both laughed again. Jehan walked in and sat next to Feuilly, who was showing him something on his mobile.

Combeferre remained outside until the sun set completely.

\---

Two weeks later, after several online tournaments of Counter Strike with Bahorel; two dinners with Courfeyrac, who tried to get him together with some random girl; after five days when he heard Enjolras and Grantaire make love loudly; after two new, amateur videos with different types of couples; Jehan’s sentence constantly drilled in his head.

_ Maybe if you saw it live... _

But did he  _ really  _ want to see it? His imagination was well developed to imagine what was happening under each sound. He knew that when Grantaire moaned a lot, it was he who set the pace. He knew that as Enjolras’s loud breathing turned into the silent whispering, he was approaching the  _ top _ . By the creaking of the bed and the throbbing sounds, he could estimate the pace of thrusts. Did he need to know more?

True, he sometimes wondered why he didn’t hear Grantaire more. Why did his sighs sometimes as if something was muffling him. Cloth? Hand? He wondered why Grantaire sometimes whined so helplessly and begged Enjolras to  _ fucking do something  _ like he couldn’t touch anything. Couldn’t he move? He wondered why sometimes Enjolras made a sound as if he had been hit hard. He wondered why Enjolras spoke softly, didn’t moan so loud, and could actually identify his excitement only through his fast breathing. He wondered what’s the weird sound that sometimes came from their room. As if they were fighting.

_ Maybe if you saw it live... _

Combeferre turned off the video on his mobile and decided that he would rather sleep earlier today.

\---

Two days later he was sitting in the living room, watching some show, eating his sandwich when the doorbell rang. He opened the front door, where a courier stood, holding a parcel in his hand. “Mr. Combeferre?”

“Yes, that’s me.” He signed the papers, said goodbye, and took the package to his room. He looked at the box as if was going to bite him. His heart started beating faster. When he reached the kitchen for a knife to get rid of the unnecessary tape, his hands tremble a little.

Combeferre got the idea. He didn’t know if it was good. But he was sure that if he told anyone, everyone would accuse him of trying to disrupt his best friend’s privacy, and that was definitely not right. He knew it wasn’t right. But he needed it. To finally get rid of the addiction to watch porn that became his new hobby. In order to finally get to know someone and have a normal relationship in which he doesn’t think about what his friends look like when they enjoy each other at night.

When he unpacked the box and removed one of the smaller boxes, he sat on the bed and put it on his lap. He stared at the black box for a moment, then opened it. Inside was a small camera, a power wire, and a booklet he didn’t even plan to read. Combeferre picked up the camera, looked it from all sides, and plugged the cable into it immediately. He got up and went into the hallway. He stood outside the door to Enjolras’s room, stared at the door knob for a moment. Why did he find it more betraying that he was trying to enter his room than what he was about to do?

He opened the door and came in. He tried to be fast as possible. He knew that Enjolras wouldn’t be home until six in the evening — he have lecture of criminal law to three, then he’ll go to see Grantaire in his atelier, then accompany him for his night shift starting at five p.m (he never understood how someone could give Grantaire work behind the bar), then picking up Italian spaghetti from a non-stop on the end of their street. Even so, he was nervous. What would he do, or at least  _ say _ , if Enjolras saw him? 

Combeferre pushed the chair to the closet, stepped on it, put a large cactus on his side, which he received from Jehan as a thank for helping to solve his problem with his parents; and put the camera up on the closet. A small hole was drilled in the wall. Combeferre took care of it yesterday. As he crept into Enjolras’ room to sweep the dust there, he almost fell from his chair, hearing that Enjolras had come with Grantaire a little earlier than he had expected. Only this memory was enough to push the cable through the wall into his room as quickly as possible. He turned the camera on, pointed it toward the bed, put the cactus in front of it, jumped down, put the chair back to the table, and left the room. He almost ran into his room. He tugged on the cable to connect it to his computer. He had a new program loaded that wanted a lot of verification and a password to protect his recordings.

When the video with Enjolras’ room appeared on the screen, he stopped for a moment. Does he really want to do that? He really wants to look into Enjolras’ room and see how he and Grantaire—He swallowed loudly. He must do it. Look at it. It’ll help him. He turned on the recording and closed the notebook. He lay in bed and fell asleep.

In the morning, the icon with the first recording shone on his tray. According to previews of several pictures, Grantaire was with Enjolras at morning. 

He didn’t play the video.

\---

“Joly, wait a minute,” Combeferre said, placed his phone on top of shoe cabinet, so he could take off his jacket and shoes. He picked up his backpack, his cell phone, and went to his room. He slammed the door shut and sat at his desk. He opened the notebook, wrote a password, and as soon as a blank screen appeared in front of him, he picked up his cell phone and held it to his ear. “I'm back. So tell me, what did you need? Yes, I already had hematology.” He quickly opened a folder with his notes and seminar papers. “Yeah, I know, it’s a terrible,” he laughed at Joly’s cursing from other side. “Got it,” he said as he opened one of the documents. “No, don't worry, it only has 570 pages.” Combeferre had to laugh as Joly’s loudly snorted.

They just talked about acute leukemia and analyzed its division into myeloid and lymphoblastic; when Combeferre heard the front door open and someone slammed it shut. He jumped a little, but when he heard Grantaire’s voice he sighed. “Where did we end? Yeah, here, write down —  _ typical is the blast-level differentiation, whose proliferation is beyond the self-regulation process _ .” Combeferre laughed. “No, I really mean that sentence and I really understand it. Joly, do you study the same thing as I do?” He imagined Joly stuck his tongue at him and rolled his head on the table. He always liked to be a little dramatic. He was already inhaling that he would begin to explain the sentence when the green light next to the black camera icon flashed on the bar. His heart almost stopped.

“Come again?” Combeferre asked, hearing that Joly had said his name several times. Although he could see what he was saying, he was still looking at the icon. Should he click on it? Look? Now that he knows they’re both in the room and can come to him at any time? “Yes, bone marrow is hypercellular with massive infiltration of leukemic cells.” His fingers tremble a little, when his cursor get closer to camera icon. “Blasts are more than thirty percent, which in a healthy person — yes, normally less than five percent. You see, you still remember something.” He wanted to see if Jehan was right. If that helps, it’s the only chance at last, after almost a year, to return to normal. “Infiltrates? These are mainly in the liver, spleen, nodules and kidneys.”

He had to do it. For himself. He clicked on the icon. A rectangular image of Enjolras’ room appeared over half the screen. Enjolras was leaning on the table, looking at Grantaire sitting on the edge of the bed. The camera was a bit too far behind, so he could only see half their bodies. “Hm? Yeah, some of them are light green in the microscopic image.” Combeferre looked at them. Both of them were elegantly dressed, as if they had just returned from dinner in a luxurious restaurant. Enjolras wore his favorite dark blue tie. Grantaire brushed his hair for the first time since he knew him, and he didn’t have the annoying, somewhat cigarette-burned beanie on his head. Grantaire was smiling, but Enjolras looked serious, his arms crossed over his chest and frowning a little. Enjolras was angry. “You can see it clearly—ah, well, you, those infiltrates are clearly visible in the picture.” Combeferre sighed a little, when Joly started his monologue about another symptoms of the illness. At this point, Combeferre was glad to be able to perceive more things at once — listening to Joly, even if only half-eared, and looking closely at display in from of him. They were both silent, looking at each other, not moving from their places. He already wanted to close the window—

_ “Did you find it funny?” Grantaire looked at Enjolras, who frowned even more. “Did you, Grantaire?" _

_ “Quite actually,” Grantaire laughed, rubbing his carefully gelled hair. “But nothing serious happened, so what?” he asked, leaning his hands on the mattress casually. _

_ “Why didn't you tell me?” Enjolras asked in a harsh voice. _

_ “Does that matter so much?” _

—”Yes, Joly, you got it right. But you didn’t name any of skin infiltrates.” Combeferre leaned his elbows on the table, watching carefully how—

_ Enjolras put his hands along his body and tilted his head a little. He seemed to think. “Not much,” he admitted. His right hand began to untie the knot around his neck. “But, weren't you the one who wanted to know our entire sexual history?" _

—“Oh,” Combeferre whispered, moving closer to the screen. “No, Joly, I… I just hit my elbow. Continue.”—

_ “There's quite a big difference between us, Apollo,” Grantaire said, his voice a little coarser. “You’re God, so I wanted to know how many other saints I would have to overcome in bed. That's obvious, isn't it?” _

_ “I don't think so.” Enjolras took off his tie and straightened it. He grabbed it by a thicker tip and approached Grantaire in a slow pace. Even from the notebook Combeferre heard how loudly Grantaire swallowed. “I think you're just jealous.” He walked over to the brunette and slipped his tie around his neck, looking like a loose rope. “You just wanted to make sure no one was before you and I'm still a virgin.” He made a knot at his tie again. “And you were disappointed when you found out—” He pulled, knot tugging into Grantaire’s apple and began strangling him. “—I'm not.” _

_ Grantaire's head leaned back, his eyes closed, one hand touching Enjolras holding the tie. He tried to indicate that it hurt him. He swallowed, trying to breathe. “W-when—when-t-to—ah.” _

_ — _ “Yes, that’s all in this chapter,” he said to Joly, running one hand across his crotch. He felt a bulge growing in his pants. Is he really—? “Do you need anything else?” _ — _

_ “Funny,” Enjolras whispered almost inaudibly, leaning to Grantaire to kiss him. He kissed him gently, staring into his painful expression on his face. “How can the pain excite you?” With that, he loose the knot and let Grantaire take a deep breath. He breathed quickly and swallowed loudly. _

_ “Why are  _ you _ excited by hurting someone?” _

_ Enjolras didn’t answer, digging his fingers into Grantaire’s hair and pulling roughly. “Did you know he would be there?” Grantaire nodded. “So you did it on purpose?” He nodded again. “Why?” He asked him softly, gently, as if he wasn’t trying to scalp his boyfriend. _

_ “Because I’m jealous shit?” Grantaire asked with his typical, poignant voice. “Because since you told me what you've been through, I can't get rid of that fucking feeling that someone's already had you. And it pisses me off. Happy now?" _

_ “You’re terribly possessive,” Enjolras said with a smile and kissed him. _

_ “With you? Always. Just the idea that someone is looking at you opens the knife in my pocket.” _

—Combeferre close the notebook so loudly, that even Joly heard it. “No, it's just, uh, nothing,” he said, feeling his heart pounding. He didn't know if he was nervous about revealing or how excited he was. He couldn’t pull his hand out of his pants yet. “Could we, uh, could we talk about it tomorrow? Maybe at school?” Combeferre leaned back in his chair and tried to breathe. “Thanks, see you tomorrow.” He threw his cell phone on the table and rubbed his face with his hands.

He watched three different porn videos that night.

\---

Combeferre tried to persuade himself to get rid of the camera. Every time he wanted to do it, new recordings shone on his computer. At first he resisted, but over time, he began to look at them in the evenings. In a locked room, in bed, with headphones. The camera was perfectly concealed, but thanks to that he always saw both from the waist up. In the beginning, he only watched them kiss. As soon as they began to undress, he turned the video down and deleted the recording. It took him a week to take a look at the whole record. When he saw Enjolras’ bare body, beautifully tanned, with light muscles; Grantaire’s tattooed back, biceps and neck, each shining with sweat; there was no way to go back.

He watched them for a month. A month without porn. He was no longer interested in strange boys and their relationships when he could look at  _ the realest  _ he knew. He couldn’t see what they looked like from the waist down, he had never seen them hug after sex, he had never seen them suck each others dicks; but he didn’t mind. He liked to hear all those sounds, surrounded by their whining and slapping skin of bodies.

A month was enough to learn that Grantaire loved being cared of. He loved when Enjolras stroked his hair, his body, massaged his neck. He loved when he sucked him off and have permission to pull his soft, blond hair. He loved to fulfill all his wishes — from pulling his hair, to soft slapping, slapping his ass, and harsh choking. He loved when Enjolras leave a visible mark on him — red spots from rough touches or semen on his stomach and chest.

A month was enough to learn that Enjolras was the dominant one in bed. He fought for equality rights, but he was quite different in bed. He barely recognized him. His voice was coarser, deeper. He spoke quietly, but he ordered. He was bossy, but he didn’t go beyond boundaries of what Grantaire likes. He loved listening to his words. He loved to let his unrestrained power speak — to hold Grantaire by the hips so he couldn’t move; bind his hands to the bed so that he couldn’t touch him; throwing him on the bed to see how helpless he was against him.

He found that both were completely different in bed than in real life. Where Enjolras was gentle and quiet, he was suddenly rude and arrogant. Where Grantaire was always cheerful and above things, he was suddenly whining mess with only passion —  _ to be good _ .

But only one thing remained – their voices. Enjolras was still quiet, moaning only exceptionally. Grantaire, on the other hand, was noisy, loved screaming rude words, and often tempted Enjolras by whispering dirty things in his ear.

After a month, Combeferre had to admit that Jehan was right after all.

He was a voyeur.

Combeferre looked at his hand. Wet, sticky, all covered with white seed. He sighed. He turned off the computer with his left hand and left it on the bed. He picked up his shorts and shirt and went to the bathroom. As he stood naked under the hot running water, he thought.

It wasn’t healthy, appropriate and not  _ normal _ at all. He knew it. He wondered how someone like _ him _ could do such a thing. Enjoy it, be excited and look forward to more and more material they offered him. How would they look if they found out? Grantaire would laugh at him. Perhaps he would ask him if he had one of their videos and would like to download it for a bribe. He was open-minded In fact, everyone liked it about him. But Enjolras? His best friend, who kept his privacy as the greatest gift? They would probably no longer be friends. He would reject him, stop communicating with him, move away—

Combeferre leaned his head on the hot tiles. He would  _ move away _ . He knew it would happen someday. He knew that someday they would both want to have their own apartment. But now? The idea of disappearing from his life with Grantaire was clenching all his guts. He never felt something like that. This couldn’t have been caused just by the disappointment of losing the material for his  _ favorite nights _ .

He turned off the water, came out of the shower, dried himself and dressed. As he walked out of the bathroom, he looked toward Enjolras’s room. The door was still open. He walked over to them and pushed them a little. He walked in and lit the lamp on his desk. The room lit in a muted, golden color. Combeferre looked at the table where were empty papers, books, a few envelopes, meeting notes, school notes, a diary. Combeferre’s gaze paused over the open, black, velvet key box that lay just under the lamp.

Coming across the room, Combeferre sat on the edge of the bed and looked around. When he and Enjolras moved in, they both painted the whole apartment in white. Both their rooms were exactly the same at the beginning. Enjolras merely bought color accessories that didn’t make his room as cool and organized as Combeferres. Since he started dating Grantaire thought, his room has changed. In the beginning it was inconspicuous – he put a gold coating on the lamp, took some books out of some shelves and replaced them with empty photo frames, had a wooden bowl with a lion engraved on it, made by Grantaire at some school subject, and put his stationery in it . But in a year and a half his room had changed beyond recognition. It was tuned in gold-red colors. It smelled of cinnamon, roses and chocolate. Above his desk was a mirror, on it a few notes paper. In the frames of the room he had several photos not only with Grantaire, but also with his family or friends. On his bed lay a plush lion, which he sometimes hug in his lap when he was learning. Grantaire shot him at the fair and give it to him as a talisman. Above the bed he had a net on which the decorative inscription LOVE was lit and several pegs with photos were attached to it.

Combeferre looked at a few of them. He didn’t have to look long and found one where he was with Enjolras. They smiled broadly, with flowers in their hair and batik shirts. It was a photograph of Jehan’s birthday, only a week after they moved into this apartment.

And now he wants to move out.

Combeferre felt a lump in his throat and a tickling in nose. No, he wouldn’t cry because of such petty things. He took the photo in his hand and looked at it for a moment. His eyes began to dim, and colors began to blend into one. “Shit, what is it?” He asked himself as he felt a stabbing around his heart. A future doctor who couldn’t identify such a pain. He lay in Enjolras’ bed, his pillow smelling of cigarettes, color and menthol – Grantaire’s scent. Enjolras hadn’t been able to wash it since he left, to get rid of his scent. There was another pain around his heart. “What is it?” He whined softly before he fell asleep in tears.

\---

In the morning he was awakened by the singing of birds under the window and the pain in head. He didn’t even want to get up. His eyes burned, his nose was itchy, and after a night without a duvet he was strangely cold. He sat down on the bed, stretched his back. He looked into his hand, still clutching the photograph with his best friend. He didn’t drop it or sleep on it. He wanted to put it back in the place—

“A surprise!” Combeferre jumped, dropped the photograph, and looked at the door where Grantaire laughed. “Wow, foureyes, how’s it going?” He threw the huge backpack down and put his hands on his hips. “God, today’s really awful traffic, where the people go all the time tell me? Where do they get the money?”

“G-Grantaire…”

“Surprised to see me?” He asked, laughing and leaning against the table. “You know, I'm a perfect boyfriend, so I arranged to be home a week earlier because, for me, staying that long without God is illegal and should be punished with fifteen days only in his wonderful arms.” He laughed and began to look around. “Where is he?”

“Huh?”

“Enjolras?”

“Ah, he, he… he’s, he’s at Feuilly’s.”

“Oh,” Grantaire as, nodding. He glanced at Combeferre and looked at him for a long moment. He frowned a little. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?” Combeferre thought he couldn’t think at all.

Grantaire frowned even more. “In Enjolras’s room.”

“Oh,” Combeferre said a little dully. “Yeah, just, sisters, they wanted some pictures. And I'm not that much into saving them, you know that. So… if he has it here, I wanted to use some.”

“You could download something from our page,” Grantaire said a little coldly, examining it again. “That's not much reason to be in his bed, is it?”

It wasn’t until Combeferre realized that he was still lying in Enjolras’ duvets. He rose quickly. He put the photo on the bed and tried to shake off the strange feeling that Grantaire's eyes burning through him. Only now did he realize he was only wearing a shirt and underwears. Grantaire had a stone look on his face. Combeferre cleared his throat, hoping to blow up the heavy air in the room. “W-what was Berlin like?”

“Boring, concrete, and terribly annoying,” Grantaire said a little more vividly. “The worst of all was that there was no one, like really no one, who understood me!”

“Well, unless you speak German…”

“Who would voluntarily learn German?”

“Marius, perhaps.”

“He's not human, but a new kind of existence to learn about humans and our planet.” Combeferre was glad Grantaire was finally smiling at him. “What is it?” Combeferre looked in the same direction as Grantaire.

Box with keys.

A box with the keys to their new apartment.

A box with the keys to their new apartment, with Grantaire’s name written on it.

“That's for me,” Grantaire said to himself as he picked up the box and removed the key. He looked at it over and looked at Combeferre. “Do you have any idea what it is?”

“Key,” Combeferre said a little faster than he expected.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “No shit Sherlock, but for what?”

“I… I don't know,” he lied.

“Oh God,” Grantaire said, sighing. “I hope the idiot doesn’t want to do that embarrassing thing with our anniversary –  _ here's the key to my heart and keep it forever. _ ”

“That would surprised me, Enjolras is more practical than romantic.”

“Oh, right. Then I would just guess the key to a house. But why with my name?”

“Who knows,” Combeferre said cautiously.

“As if he wanted to give it to me or something,” Grantaire laughed, looking at Combeferre, who was silent. “He doesn’t want to give it to me, does he?”

“Why do you ask me?”

“You’re nervous, which is not normal for you. Yeah, you've been acting very weird lately, we’ve all noticed that, and if you don’t start to act normal, Joly will hold one of his typical speeches about how is drugs and overworking bad for your health; but before me and especially Enjolras, you are the same all the time. So – your weird expression? – I don't like it.”

“Thanks,” Combeferre said, looking unobtrusively at the door. “You should wait here—”

“You know something, don't you?” Grantaire asked, shaking the box. “You know what they are for.”

“C’mon, all—”

“No  _ c’mon _ , you two are telling each other everything, you’re like twins who forgot to cut the umbilical cord.” With that he looked at the box, closed it, and shook it a couple of times. “What do you know?” He asked a little more seriously, looking into his face.

Combeferre tried to see what that expression meant. Grantaire rarely had it. Mostly before boxing or fencing tournaments. Maybe he was concentrating, maybe he was thinking a lot. Actually, he saw him a few times while looking at him or Feuilly. But he still didn’t know what it meant. “Enjolras found a new apartment—”

“Well, at least you will have more privacy.”

“—Where he wants to move with you.” Grantaire glanced at Combeferre in terror. “W—”

“Move?” Grantaire asked cautiously. “Like, with me? To the apartment? To another apartment? Alone? The two of us?” Combeferre just nodded. “Oh, well, wow.” Grantaire placed the box on the table and took a deep breath, exhaled a few times, tried to laugh, but just shook his head. His eyes started to run around the room. Combeferre wanted to ask what happened when the elder began his rant: “Do you understand him? Do you understand him?! He, he, he makes the decision without me! Again!” He pushed himself away from the table, walked to the door, and again to the table. “I told him a hundred times that it was too early to take such steps and he? He find us a flat.” With that he slapped his hands heavily onto his thighs.

“But he didn't mean it in bad way, surely.” Combeferre knew he had to save it somehow.

“Yeah, he never thinks anything bad.” With that, he ran his thick hairs and looked at Combeferre. “You know we've had this discussion before? Just implied, I repeat, implied that we could live together? And I? I got such a panic attack that I throw up. Regularly, I was in front of him. I almost throw up  _ at _ him. And he still find the fucking apartment somewhere!”

“He really didn't mean it bad,” Combeferre said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. Grantaire was beginning to panic. It didn’t look good. “He was excited when he told me.”

“Yeah, he’s always,” Grantaire said to himself, taking a deep breath. “God, what a fool,” he said to himself, re-digging through his hair. “Dude, I told him it wasn’t possible. He –w e can't just be together all the time! It's been a miracle that we’ve been together for so long. It's a miracle that I haven’t fucked it up yet, but if we’re all together, I'm sure I'm gonna screw it up.” With that he put his hands on his hips and exhaled deeply. He was silent for a moment, his eyes staring at the ground and nodding his head several times. “I need some weed.”

“I'll take one with you,” Combeferre said. He didn’t smoke too often, but he needed to calm the pounding heart. He was already panicking too. He walked around Grantaire to get to the door and get out together. “Balcony?”

Grantaire jumped up on the bed and reached for the cactus pot.

“W–wait, what are you doing?”

Grantaire looked at Combeferre and raised an eyebrow. “Taking my stuff.”

“What?”

“Well, as Enjolras had a exams, he didn't really sleep for four days. He looked like a zombie. So I convinced him to take few puffs with me and well, it worked a little. So I leave some weed here, if we needed it again. As you can see, I'm glad for it now.” With that he reached for the cactus—

“Wait!” Shouted Combeferre, but he could see Grantaire’s confused expression already. “Wait…,” he whispered, closing his eyes. Grantaire stood on his toes and pushed the cactus aside to see what was behind it. As soon as he recognized what the black box was, his pupils widened and sighed aloud. “Wa–”

“What the fuck is that?” He shouted, pulling the camera closer. “Is that some fucking joke?” He dropped the camera, stepped on the mattress, and looked at Combeferre. “What is it?!”

“… Camera,” Combeferre said in a low voice, feeling his panic start as much as a friend in front of him.

“He ha… ah, he's got a camera pointing at our bed? Really? For fucking real?!” He laughed and shook his head. “The keys, okay, I would understand, but this,  _ this _ ?!”

“Grantaire, maybe—”

“Maybe what, Combeferre?!” he shouted at him, making Combeferre free at his spot. He had heard him scream several times, but only for fun when he was too drunk or too excited. Never upset. But now his eyebrows were dangerously low, wrinkles on his forehead, his eyes darker than normal, his mouth like small cracks, his nostrils stretched, his vein on neck throbbing. He was angry. “Maybe a guy I have fallen in love with for four years can’t listen to two simple things?! Two things I want him not to do?” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I knew it, I knew that if I started about it myself, it would do the opposite because he would be curious. Curious what I'm going to do. But this certainly he doesn’t expect. What I’m going to tell him and what I’m going to do is really—”

“What do you want to do?”

Grantaire looked at Combeferre, who was a little scared. “What do you think? I'll talk to him! Because unlike him I can really communicate and if I have a problem, I say it to him. I'm not doing things in secret, and to all this fucking disgusting stuff!”

“No, don't do that—”

“He knows what I think about it, he knows what it will do to me! Did he do that on purpose? Because he haven’t experienced it with any of his  _ Leo _ or  _ Tihmoet _ or  _ Marc _ ?!”

“Don't t—”

“I'll screw up, I can't handle this, I'll break up with h—”

“It’s mine, okay?!” Grantaire jumped and Combeferre himself was surprised to find so much power to shout. “It’s mine,” he said a little more quietly, but still in a strong voice to keep Grantaire silent. “It's mine and Enjolras doesn’t know. Please don't tell him.”

“Yours?” Grantaire asked, looking back at the camera. Only now did he notice that the wire was leading to the next room. To Combeferre’s room. “Why?” Grantaire asked, glancing again at Combeferre, who blushed and looked down.

“What's going on here?” They both looked at the door where Enjolras stood, still in his boots and jacket, carrying a paper bag bearing the Mexican restaurant logo that was just next Feuilly’s apartment.

“Surprise!” Grantaire cried suddenly. Enjolras looked at his bed, where Grantaire stood, hands raised in the air, a little white on his face. Enjolras knew his enthusiasm was fake. He looked at Combeferre, who was still looking down.

“Is something wrong?” Enjolras asked, putting the bag on the table. He noticed that Combeferre’s eyes glistened. Like he had tears in them. “Com—”

“He told me about the apartment.” They both looked at Grantaire, who stood on his toes again and pulled a bag of weed from the pot with cactus. “I have to smoke.”

Enjolras looked at Combeferre, then at his boyfriend, and sighed. “Grantaire, I—”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said seriously, walking to his boyfriend. “I need it.” He waved a bag of grass in front of his face. “And you, too, when you have such stupid ideas.”

Enjolras smiled. “I was hoping—”

“Weed first, talking after. And then, we’ll see.” With that he turned to both his back and walked out of the room. He quickly returned, took Enjolras by the hand, and began pulling him down the hall. “You know what, let's take a walk, I need to discuss something with you.”

Combeferre didn't really hear them leave. He could only feel the weight on his chest. He felt his eyes full of tears. He felt his body tremble. Grantaire – he’ll tell Enjolras everything. For sure. Their friendship will be over. All because of his stupid idea. His body was weak. He slowly sat on the ground, pulled his legs to his chest and cried.

He can't handle this.

\---

Combeferre experienced six hours of suffering. Six hours of solitude in the apartment, which suddenly seemed cold, sad and frightening. He washed the dishes, wiped the dust, rearranged the books on the shelves by size and then by color to re-order them by size. He walked between the rooms like a soulless body, trying not to think about what would happen after the two returns. He wanted to be in any moment, and at the same time he wish not to seem them  _ even again _ . He couldn't breathe. He felt as if he would suffocate at any moment. He made a lemon tea and sat down on the balcony watching the sunset.

He almost finished the tea, when he heard someone unlock the front door. Immediately he heard Enjolras and Grantaire voices. They spoke quietly and seriously. Almost as if it wasn’t them. His heart began to beat a little faster. He took a deep breath and exhaled. His lips were dry and his eyes burned. It was obvious that he was crying.

“Hi.” Combeferre turned his head to the balcony door where Enjolras stood, leaning against the doorway. “Grantaire had to go to the bathroom, so I thought I’d talk to you alone. Can I sit down?” Serious. Too serious. Combeferre just nodded. Enjolras sat on a small stool beside him, leaning his hand against the stool that divided them. Combeferre was glad for that. Certainly he wanted to throw it on him. “I don't know where to start.” Combeferre cleared his throat. His chest began to burn. He played with his fingers. “Actually, it's quite…” Enjolras paused. He always knew what to say. When someone like him was beginning to lose words, it would hurt a lot. He knew it. He should have just started apologizing. To him and Grantaire. Pull out that stupid camera, erase all videos, format discs. He should lock himself in his room and walk up the fire stairs every day so he doesn’t have to see them anymore. Admit their group what a pervert he is and stop going to the meetings. Or better yet – pack his stuff and never come back—”All of this is my fault.”

Combeferre looked at Enjolras and frowned. “What did you say?”

Enjolras sighed and repeated the sentence, “All of this is my fault.” With that he leaned his head against the wall and watched the sunset as his best friend had before. “I should have known it wouldn’t go well.”

“What doesn’t go well?” Combeferre asked cautiously.

“The idea of living together.” Combeferre blinked. So this was the problem? “You know, how to start… Grantaire had a few serious relationships. Unlike me. When... when we started dated, we didn't mind the other’s past. We didn’t care. But then suddenly Grantaire became interested in who I had, what I done, who I was dating, how I ended up with them, if I was still in contact with anyone. I took it only like he was interested in me. He thought I had no one, so when I started talk about it, he was a little shocked. But still curious. And I tell him everything. So stupid.” Enjolras laughed and began to shake his head. “Then he blamed me a little. As if I was to blame that we hadn’t met sooner. It was probably the worst time we had in a relationship so far. At the time we were not seeing each other.” While they were at Jehan’s. The first time they kissed before the group. Combeferre remembered it. But he thought they were both busy. “And you know when it broke? When we met Grantaire’s ex-boyfriend. One of many, as it turned out later. He was such a nasty guy, I don't even remember the name, but... but I remember how I led Grantaire home. He was arrogant, almost to say he was glad we met him. As if he thought he might have given me a lesson, that he also had someone. That night was... Actually, everything was fine, we got home... And then, very early in the morning, I woke up as Grantaire was shaking. He cried. A lot. I had to take him to the bathroom, where I washed him in hot water. Then we made some tea and talked. Grantaire told me about all his relationships. It was a long list. Sometimes I didn’t even want to listen to it, but I wanted to support him, so I clenched my teeth and was a great boyfriend he finally deserved. It was dawn when we were done. Grantaire then slept almost until lunch.” That was the night he first decided to watch them. The night when he saw Enjolras Grantaire choke him by his tie. If he looked longer, everything Enjolras was telling him now would have known. “Grantaire may be jealous and a bit possessive, which is sometimes reflected in the way he talks to me in private, but… he still has a lot of great features that make me so fond of him. I couldn’t wish for someone better.” Enjolras smiled and Combeferre himself felt the corners of his lips lift. “So I wanted something for him he didn't have yet. A serious relationship that doesn’t break after two people move in and get the first kitten.”

“Kitten?” Enjolras looked at Combeferre and nodded. “Wait, so Grantaire’s Amor isn’t actually his but one of his ex?”

“Exactly,” Enjolras replied. “He's already moved in with two boys. With Patrick and Henri. And both ended very badly. Grantaire still thinks it's because they lived together. They saw each other daily, suddenly they couldn’t hide from the other and it was choking them. So…”

“So Grantaire got a panic attack because he already thought you two would break up?”

“Yes,” Enjolras sighed. “And it was very hard to convince him otherwise. That's why we're so late.”

“Successfully?”

“Kind of,” Enjolras admitted, finally looking at Combeferre. “What would you think if we had two more roommates?”

“That I don't know where to put them.”

“Even if my bed was enough for both of them, and one would leave fur everywhere?”

“I guess it will be okay,” Combeferre said, smiling.

“If you agree, then… Grantaire and I would first try living here. Grantaire’s wish. He said he want to have possibility to run to his old apartment at any time when  _ I got on his nerves – _ his own words.” They both laughed. “Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“It will be only for a few months, at worst for half a year. Before we find anything for us.”

“I thought you—”

“I've already called it off. I paid a deposit to the owner and we agreed that it would be better to find other tenants.”

Combeferre just nodded. “So… so now we will be three here.”

“Four,” Enjolras corrected. “Don't forget Amor.”

“How could I,” Combeferre said, slightly annoyed, remembering Grantaire’s hyperactive, tabby cat. Enjolras knew what he was thinking about and laughed.

“Hey, you two, do you want something for dinner?” They both looked at the door where Grantaire stood. “I'd like a burger or some other unhealthy shit.”

“Don’t curse,” Enjolras said him warnigly, rising. “I'll order a pizza.”

“Pizza and burger, wow, that's exactly the same Apollo.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I'll take Hawaii.”

“How can you put sweet pineapple on meat? You’re ruining it!”

“I'll take two,” Enjolras said firmly, and went for his cell phone.

Combeferre smiled at their soft arguing. The idea of hearing it on a daily basis didn’t bother him, though. “Good talk?” Combeferre looked at Grantaire, who was out of sparks and looked so serious again. From what Enjolras discussed with him, Grantaire didn’t tell him about the camera.

“Yeah,” he said simply, trying not to notice the nasty pressure in his stomach.

“Great,” he said, trying to smile. “So we're roommates.”

“Roommates,” Combeferre repeated.

“Great,” Grantaire repeated, and entered the living room. But he returned immediately and looked at the younger one. “Yeah, and Combeferre?” Combeferre muttered as a sign that he was listening. “This is yours.” With that, he threw the camera at him, with the wire cut in several places. With that he walked in and left Combeferre alone on the balcony.

Combeferre didn’t take pizza for dinner.

\---

Their apartment was too small for three people, let alone twelve. Combeferre didn’t even understand how everyone fit in there. Marius was sitting on the couch, with Cosette on his lap, with whom he been officially dating for three weeks and couldn’t stop talking about her; they were talking to Joly and Musichetta, who was stroking her boyfriends back. Opposite them was Bahorel and Courfeyrac, who had a cell phone in their hands and loudly discussed the profiles of the boys on Grindr. Grantaire was sitting on the kitchen table, leaning his head on Enjolras arm, who had heated discussions with Feuilly about something he didn’t heard. Bossuet and Jehan tasted various wines and muttered a melody they had just invented.

At the entrance to the balcony sat Combeferre, looking at his friends, sipping beer, holding Amor in his hand, which sprawled on his back and required scratching on his stomach. Cats weren’t his favorite animals, but he loved this Maine Coon cat for the first harsh lick. He saw Amor a few times before, but only for a moment. Most of the time, he knew of its existence, thanks to the cat hair that had been stuck to Grantaire’s clothes. They got used to each other in the apartment after some time, but as soon as they found out that neither of them intended to hurt the other, they got closer. He often woke with Amor pressed to his back. Even his fur hairs didn’t bother him so much, thanks to Enjolras, who was constantly vacuuming and mopping them away.

Living with Grantaire was different than he had imagined. A pair of shoes were added to the shoe rack, two jackets and several leather jackets in the closet. Occasionally he found dirty water with unwashed brushes lying on the sink in the bathroom. The fragrance of lemon, saffron and wine was added to the apartment. Grantaire hated dishwashing, always leaving traces of empty, dirty glasses everywhere.

Enjolras seemed a little happier and relaxed than before. Grantaire quickly settled down and behaved the same way. They always go out of the apartment in hand and hand, and come out in the same way. He was never alone with Grantaire. 

But, that was everything. Nothing has changed. Then — Combeferre looked at his roommates, who clung to each other slightly. Grantaire’s head laid on Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras’s arm around Grantaire’s waist. That was the most intimate thing he had seen in the last month. Or heard.

He sighed. Amor on his lap stretched and jumped from his lap and began to demand the attention of his owner, who immediately took him in his arms and stroked him on the thick coat. Enjolras ran a finger over his nose and scratched his neck. Even Combeferre across the room heard Amor’s purring.

Too bad he didn’t hear more,  _ something different _ . He hadn’t heard anything since the three of them started lived together. Grantaire complained about the creaking bed, so Enjolras bought a new one without feathers and grids under the mattress. They spoke quietly, and when he heard something, it was just a sounds from a movie or their laugh. Nothing more. As if they were both tame. As if they were doing nothing together. But in the morning, Combeferre always knew when they had made love. Grantaire had a red spot on his collarbone and he painted until late in the morning because he was experiencing an influx of artistic inspiration. Enjolras hummed melodies from his favorite movies and always made breakfast. So he knew they still made love. But  _ he didn't know  _ about it.

It made him a little angry. When he tried to relax and not think of how much he was afraid that Grantaire would once get drunk and say something to Enjolras; porn no longer helped him. No matter what, his  _ pride _ didn’t react. He was just waiting for him to dive into fantasy with his two friends. And his brain couldn’t think of anything else.

“Combeferre, come here, you must see this!” Courfeyrac exclaimed enthusiastically, noticing Bahorel laughing and grinning. Had he wanted to watch a gay dating site and rate other guys with two guys? No. But it was better than sitting in a corner alone and thinking about how much his current situation annoyed him. He finished his beer and went to his friends.

The whole evening was calm. It was a celebration of Grantaire and Enjolras moving their relationship a little further, but actually no one was talking about it. They took it as an excuse to see friends again outside the Musain café.

Around one in the morning everyone started to leave. Combeferre said goodbye to everyone from the chair he had moved to the wall at the door. His head was dizzy, after he get tipsy from beer a few shots of rum. He didn’t want to risk of falling. Bahorel laughed at him that he couldn’t last, and in an hour it was him whom Joly stroked on his back as he vomited into the toilet bowl in the bathroom.

Combeferre rested happily. He was pleased with the warmth, but the world spun with him from time to time. He kept his hands on the armrest or the wall to remind himself that he was sitting. His eyes were closed and he breathed as if he was asleep long ago.

When he opened his eyes, everyone was already gone. Grantaire was putting dirty dishes to the sink and eating the last chips from the bowls. Enjolras sat on the couch, his eyes closed, smiling happily, and grumbling occasionally. His cheeks were a little pink from alcohol. Like Combeferre, he wasn't used to it, and it was easy to get him drunk. That’s why he avoided alcohol as much as he could. “Are you sleeping?” Combeferre wanted to answer when he found that Grantaire hadn’t asked him. He was looking at Enjolras, who just shook his head. “But it looks like it.”

“I'm resting,” Enjolras said in a satisfied and hoarse voice.

“So I should get you drunk rather than get you high by the fucking weed last time? Good to know.”

“Don’t be rude,” Enjolras laughed, opening his eyes. “I'm not drunk.”

“But you giggle as if you were.”

Enjolras laughed again, and then he bit his lip. “Um, maybe a little.”

“A little tipsy?”

“A little,” Enjolras said with an accent, his fingers indicating how few and giggling.

“That was terrible,” Grantaire commented on his attempted Russian accent.

“Sorry,” Enjolras answered truthfully, and smiled again. He studied Grantaire’s face for a moment. “Come here,” he said suddenly, grabbing his boyfriend’s wrist. He didn’t even protest, he fall next to Enjolras, leaning his head on his chest. “You’re beautifully warm.”

“That’s in my job description.” They both laughed softly. Grantaire rested his chin on his chest and looked into his face. “Are you really happy?”

“That you live with me?” Grantaire just hummed. “It's the best thing that happened to me in recent years.”

“Don't be so awfully romantic, or I’ll throw up,” Grantaire said, cringing a little, lying back on his partner’s chest.

They lay in the other’s arms for a moment. Enjolras was playing absently with Grantaire’s hair with one hand, stroking his side with the other. Grantaire lay on his chest, looking somewhere in the void. Combeferre felt his back and legs aching slowly, needing to stretch a little. He was slowly rising when—

“You want to sleep,  _ sir _ ?” Enjolras opened his eyes and quickly looked at Grantaire, who followed him with an innocent look. The younger glared at him, frowning a little. “Are you tired,  _ sir _ ?

“What are you doing, Grantaire?” The blond asked cautiously as he felt Grantaire stroking his chest and playing with buttons of his shirt.

“I was hoping for a different ending to this festive day.” His fingers unbuttoned the first two buttons oh Enjolras’s shirt. He revealed his bony collarbones. Grantaire kissed them and then moved to his neck. He kissed his neck gently, leaving small, wet, red spots behind him, grumbling gently.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked him again, eyes closed. He was still frowning, but his mouth was ajar and he was breathing a little faster.

“What do you think I’m doing,  _ sir _ ?”

“Something terribly stupid.” Enjolras pulled Grantaire away and looked into his eyes. “Combeferre is here.”

Combeferre quickly closed his eyes, hoping for a blanket – he didn’t even remember who covered him. Joly? Jehan? – can hide how much was his heart beating. He longed to hear them again. He knew that only this few kisses on neck, could make him survive another weeks.

“And?” Grantaire asked, slightly annoyed. “He’s asleep.”

“Wait,” Enjolras said a little seriously. Grantaire growled and pulled away from him. He sat beside him and raised an eyebrow. “What if he wakes up?”

“Then he’ll see your dick in my ass, he’ll pretty clear know what we’re doing.”

Enjolras just sighed. “I don’t want him to see that.”

“Weren’t that you who wanted to try something  _ crazy _ ?”

“But I mean something like  _ doing it _ in the square or in my parent’s bed, but this?”

“Having sex in front of your best buddy is worse than be locked up in jail because of public sex or killed by your homophobic parents?” Enjolras didn’t answer. “He’s definitely drunk anyway. Did you see how he and Bahorel had a shot every two minutes? Even if he woke up, he would have no idea what was going on. He’s probably fucked up by the booze anyway.”

“He will not remember anything, if he wakes up?” Enjolras asked cautiously.

“No,” Grantaire said, approaching him.

“Even if he sees something?”

“Believe me, I still don't know what happened on my twenty-sixth birthdays and how I got to Barcelona.” He put his hands on Enjolras shoulders. “We haven’t done that in a  _ week _ and I  _ miss _ it and if this is the only opportunity…” He didn’t finish, just stroked Enjolras’s shoulders a few times.

Enjolras stared between his partner and the couch, seeming to think about it. He wasn’t drunk, just a little tipsy. He was still able to think about it. Combeferre wanted to give him three shots of whiskey to accepted Grantaire’s idea. Being able to finally look at them was like a dream come true.

“Okay,” Enjolras said finally, stroking Grantaire’s cheek. He smiled broadly and grunted gently.

“You will not regret it.”

“I hope so.”

They both leaned in and kissed each other. Enjolras opened his mouth slightly and kissed Grantaire’s dry mouth. “You taste like wine, I like it,” the blond man whispered, his tongue running across his lips. When they were a little wet, the tip of his tongue began to demand more. Grantaire immediately opened his mouth and let the younger play with his tongue. Enjolras examined every bit of his mouth. He had never liked wine, but when it was mixed with Grantaire’s natural taste, it was something intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of it. Grantaire groaned into their kiss. He moved his palms from his shoulders to his hips and squeezed him harder. He began to respond to Enjolras’ kisses. He bit him slightly. “Oh, oh,” Enjolras whispered, pulling away from him. His tongue brushed his lips, not losing a bit of Grantaire’s taste. “Don't hurry,” he said lowly, grabbing his cheeks with his hands. “It's been a week.”

“ _ A week,” _ Grantaire grunted. “How am I supposed to do something, if all I want all day is you to fuck me already?” Enjolras answered him with another hungry kiss. He was passionate. Harsh. He clung to his chest with Grantaire, who wasn’t allowed to breathe. Their noses hit each other.

As Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire, the black haired began to breathe deeply and sigh. He couldn’t catch his breath. “You are beautiful,” Enjolras whispered excitedly and began to kiss the older one on his neck. He put his palms on his hips, his fingers digging into cloth. It looked as if he was trying to pull his pants off. Grantaire had to rest his hands on the couch so he wouldn’t fall on his back. He leaned his head back, revealing his long, white neck. Enjolras kissed his tongue over the throbbing vein, gently kissed him, his tongue slipping through the throbbing vein on his neck, back to his chin, and began to bite him gently. His imprinted canines were visible in a few places. Grantaire moaned softly and sometimes thrust his hips as if trying to hump on Enjolras’s leg. But he was too far from him.

Combeferre sat there, looking carefully at what was happening in front of him. His heart was pounding, his legs stiffened, his trousers tight. He held his breath so they couldn’t hear him gasping for air. He was afraid to just move on the chair so that they wouldn’t disturb them and they wouldn’t move away.

Enjolras pulled away from Grantaire, quickly pulled his black T-shirt over his head and looked at his exposed chest. A tattoo of forest gleamed on his chest, turning into an image of a crow over his shoulder, a piece of biceps, and half his back. He loved it. How much pain did Grantaire have to endure to look so perfect? He swallowed and bent down quickly. He kissed the black tattoo and slowly lowered his head. His tongue became interested in his left nipple, licking, biting. Grantaire jumped. “Jesus,  _ yes _ ,” he whispered softly, biting his lower lip. His eyes were still closed, his head tilted back. “More,” he said, and Enjolras fulfilled his wish. After a while he moved to the right and repeated everything. 

Combeferre’s throat was dry. He was becoming uncomfortable in his pants. His fingers trembled and his hands had to dig into the armrests to avoid touching himself. They would see it. He had to restrain himself. He must play almost  _ dead _ .

Enjolras pulled away and smiled. He felt his heart pound as he saw all the red spots on his lover’s body. “Take off your pants,” he commanded in a rougher voice, and Grantaire listened immediately. In a moment he tore off his jeans and threw them away. He was already fumbling for his underwear, but Enjolras grabbed his hand. “I said pants. Nothing else.”

“Yes,  _ sir _ .” There was nothing mocking in his voice. He meant that seriously. Combeferre felt twitching inside his trousers. “Whatever you wish,” he said a little more quietly, lowering his head a little.

“Good boy,” Enjolras praised him, stroking his hair. Grantaire immediately closed his eyes and grunted. He loved when Enjolras digged his fingers through his thick hairs. He had a weakness for it. He felt like he was his dog. He  _ was _ his dog. His  _ pet. _ He loved it.

Enjolras lay his belly on the couch, elbows resting on Grantaire’s legs, which he spread a little. His nose began to rub against the bulge in his shorts. They encircled him precisely according to his size and shape. After a moment Enjolras opened his mouth and exhaled. His hot breath forced Grantaire to groan. He jumped a little, hoping his lips would rub against his clothed cock. “You are very eager,” Enjolras complained, smiling again.

“A week, Enjolras, is— _ ah _ !” He cried. Combeferre almost cried out with him as he was startled by it. Enjolras slapped Grantaire’s thigh hard. The place immediately began to turn red. “Sorry,  _ sir _ ,” Grantaire said before Enjolras can spoke. “I won’t call you by name again. I know I can't. ”

“For this time,” Enjolras said seriously, taking care of his crotch again. He ran his tongue along his length. Grantaire hissed and lifted his hips a little, hoping that he would take off his annoying underwear. But Enjolras ignored it. He ran his tongue up and down. When he began to have a dry and rough tongue from the fabric, he began kissing him over his underwear. He gently nibbled it. His underwear began to be moisten with Enjolras’ saliva, and Grantaire himself. “Should I take them off?”

“Please,” Grantaire whispered almost breathlessly.

“Should I?”

“Please,” he whispered a little louder.

“Really?”

“ _ Please _ ,” Grantaire whined. Combeferre wanted to start begging with him. He knew what was coming, what Enjolras was about to do. He wanted to see it. Right now. “ _ Please _ ,” he whined again, looking into Enjolras’s face.

“You know what to do.” Grantaire nodded. “Repeat it to me.”

“Don't move your hips, don't thrust,  _ hold it like slut you are _ .”

“And?”

“And talk.”

“Why?”

“Because you love to hear my voice. It excites you.”

“I’m surprised and pleased, Grantaire,” Enjolras said proudly, sitting down to kiss Grantaire. “Maybe you finally understand what it’s mean to be my favorite?” Before he could insult Grantaire and sprinkle it with mocking notes, Enjolras pulled his shorts off and threw them behind him. Grantaire lay completely naked before him.

Combeferre swallowed dry. He had never actually seen Grantaire completely naked. He had never concealed his body, especially since he decided to start dieting and regular exercise three years ago. When he lost two hundred pounds, he began to show before everyone in tighter shirts. When he lose a lot of weight and the first muscles began to appear on his body, he wore a tank top for the first time in his life. Within a year he get his first tattoo and tried to draw attention to his body. He was proud of himself. But what he was hiding under his pants worth mentioning too. He wasn’t very long, but wide enough. Was it even possible to put it all in mouth?

He got an immediate answer to the question. Enjolras lay down again on his stomach, propped his elbows on the couch, and with an experience, he swallowed half of his cock in mouth. Grantaire arched his back, sighed, and his fingers dug into the couch. “God, God, God,” he whispered softly as he felt himself surrounded by his hot lips. Enjolras didn’t wait for anything and began to move his head up and down. Where his lips didn’t reach, he touched him with one hand. The other was playing with his testicles. “Sir, _oh my god sir_ , you have such a wonderful mouth. Where did you learn that?” Enjolras didn’t respond and continued his work. “I am jealous of anyone who could have this— _aah_ — before me. Felt it be-because— _agh_ —it's absolutely wonderful.” Grantaire was perhaps breathless for the first time.

Combeferre felt that his pants would burst at any moment, and the button would fly to the other side of the room. His legs began to shake with excitement. He had to do something about it. He knew that Enjolras wasn’t paying attention, and Grantaire was pretty busy right now, that even if he saw something, he wouldn’t care about it. At least now. It was his chance to get rid of that nasty pressure. Slowly, not to make too much noise, he moved his hands to the trouser button, unbuttoned it with the zipper, and pulled off the hem of the boxers. Immediately he released his throbbing erection, which longed for attention. With one hand he supported the blanket so no one could hear what he was doing under it, and with the other he grasped himself. He began to stroke it slowly.

Enjolras was doing everything but nothing slow. He moved his head up and down quickly, when he needed to inhale, he kept the tip of Grantaire’s penis in his mouth, playing with a small hole on it, and thrust it almost into his mouth again. “I would like to have this all the time, every day, as soon as I wake up, before I go to sleep. I can't— _ ah _ —I can't—  _ fuck _ —and I don't have enough.” Grantaire wetted his lips with tongue and bit into them. It was the only way to keep himself from thrusting inside his boyfriend’s mouth. “God, I want you to have it all there. So  _ fucking  _ much! Your lips are so beautifully hot, Enjolras.” Enjolras moved one hand to his nipple and pinched it. “Agh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I mean —  _ sir _ .” Grantaire closed his eyes and tried to breathe so he could speak more. “I know how you love when I talk to you, but do you know how hard it is? When you’re so great. Please, please,  _ please  _ don't stop.” A tearful moan came from his mouth. He enjoyed it and suffer at the same time, because he couldn’t get more. Enjolras hadn’t allowed him to touch him yet, so he just looked at him. How much he wanted to dig his fingers into his scalp and finally thrust deep. “Please allow me to. Let me touch you. Please.” Enjolras didn’t answer and continued to focus on his penis, which was a little wider than it had been a while ago. He tried to outwit his gag reflex so that he could take even more into his mouth. “God, why— _ ah _ —why not? Why not? I want to touch you. So much. I want—no, I want— _ ahg _ —I want— _ fuck _ —I want to fuck your mouth. I want. I want so much. It's wet, hot,  _ great _ .”

Combeferre put his right hand to his mouth and spat carefully into it. Once wet, he moved it back to his cock and began stroking it slowly. It was a little better. He felt it hot, wet and imagined it wasn’t his hand, but— _ oh God, he imagined _ —

“I’ll come in any minute—I’ll— _ sir _ ,” Grantaire whined. Enjolras had heard that before and pulled away from him. He sat down, wiped his mouth, and looked into his face. He was all red, sweaty, his eyes closed tightly.

“You won’t, I haven’t allowed it yet.”

“I know!” Grantaire exclaimed excitedly. “But when you’re so— _ hmm _ .” He didn't finish because Enjolras pushed his three fingers in his mouth and slowly pulled them out and back in. Grantaire grumbled blissfully around his fingers, trying to get them as deep as possible. Unlike Enjolras, he didn’t suffer from gag reflex and after a while, he felt his fingers finally touch his back of the neck. Grantaire grunted and opened his eyes to look at Enjolras, who was watching him all the time.

“Tomorrow,” he said suddenly in a serious voice. “You’ll suck me off tomorrow and swallow everything, all right?” Grantaire just moaned and nodded.

Combeferre slowed his movement. He knew it wasn’t over yet. Not when he saw Grantaire’s erection burn in red and purple colour, and Enjolras was still dressed. 

Enjolras pulled his fingers from his mouth and wiped them on his pants. “Come on, do it,” he said, and Grantaire sat as close to Enjolras as possible. He began to unbutton his white shirt with shaking fingers. He breathed quickly, trying to swallow the saliva that converged over his gorgeous, golden, elaborate, bare body. When he was to unbutton the last two buttons, he stopped. He looked at the hem of his shirt and breathed deeply. “Why did you stop?” Enjolras asked, looking into his face. Seeing his lover’s head down and pupils spread, he knew something happened. “Is there something wrong?”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras and kissed him quickly. “I don't want him to see you.”

“He sleeps, you told it before,” Enjolras said in a harsh voice, unfastening the last buttons himself. He was about to take off his shirt when Grantaire grabbed it and forced him to keep it.

“I don't... at all,” he whispered. His jealousy spoke. “If by chance he was awake…” Combeferre could have sworn he caught Grantaire’s gaze. Does he, all the time, know that he’s not sleeping?

“Okay.” Enjolras didn’t want to think much about it. They could talk later. Before he could focus on his pants, Enjolras slapped Grantaire’s cheek gently. It wasn’t harsh, but he still twitched a little and felt his face sting for a moment. “For kissing me without permission.”

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” whispered Grantaire, feeling his excitement returning and shouting all the thoughts in his head. He quickly unbuttoned his trouser belt, button and zip. Enjolras’s erection loomed in solid, violet boxers. He had to lick his lips to keep from groaning loudly. If he had previously known what was hidden under the layers of clothing, he would have tried to sleep with Enjolras long ago.

Grantaire stood beside the couch, watching Enjolras move to the center of the couch, leaning his back on the couch, pulling his trousers just over his hips. He leaned over to Grantaire, kissed his stomach, leaned back and patted his thighs. Grantaire smiled broadly and nodded. He sat astride his things, above his cock. “Kiss me.” Grantaire kissed him. Their heads were turned so that Combeferre had a great view of them. He saw their tongues weave together, their cheeks blushing and groaning into each other’s mouth. Enjolras stroked Grantaire’s hair, tugging at them occasionally. Grantaire always grunted loudly thank to it. Combeferre loved kissing. He never knew he would just like to look at it. But those two? They were perfect. “Hips up.” Grantaire lifted a little, and Enjolras brought his fingers closer to his—

_ Oh _ . Combeferre turned off all porn after he come. All he watch was oral. He knew men could also do penetration sex together. According to some videos from Enjolras’ room, he knew the two of them were doing this several times in week. But he didn’t know how it worked. Theoretically — yes, he had some papers from school, from urology and sexology; but how it worked in practice, it was still a mystery to him. He had never thought about it, and indeed didn’t care. Now he couldn’t take his eyes off Enjolras’s fingers sinking into his entrance, Grantaire moaned loudly, and Enjolras kissed him on neck. He bit him and Grantaire whimpered. “You are prepared.” Enjolras tugged on Grantaire’s hair, forcing him to back his head a little more. “Why?”

“I wanted you, I still want you,” Grantaire whispered excitedly, moaning loudly. “And—and I knew that when we were all here, so—agh,  _ this is perfect _ —we would drink, and I knew if you had a little more— _ aah _ !” Enjolras’s fingers buried deep inside him. “ _ That's amazing _ .”

Was it really? Combeferre never tried. He knew the prostate was hiding a few inches from the anus and, with proper stimulation, was more delightful to men than masturbation. When the two activities joined, men experienced the strongest ejaculation. When a teacher told this students in a urology lecture, he paid little attention to it. He knew he would never try it – because he  _ wasn't gay _ , though after a few glasses of beer, a few of his classmates had admitted that they had tried out of curiosity after a lecture at home with their girlfriends and  _ the teacher was right _ – but now he longed for Grantaire to explain how best to enjoy that feeling while Enjolras would expertly touch him. His hand movements fastening.

“What a vulgar, big boy,” Enjolras said excitedly, biting Grantaire’s lips.

“Just for you,  _ sir _ .” Enjolras pulled his fingers out of his entrance, released his clump of hair, and began to pull off his pants and shorts. “Wa-Wait, I'll do it.”

“No,” Enjolras said vigorously, looking into Grantaire’s face. “For having it planned. I’m not going to discuss with you,” he said, noticing Grantaire’s sad gaze. “Perhaps it will teach you that the next time you have to wait for me to do it.” He spat in his hand and wet his entire cock. He took Grantaire by his waist, pulled him a little above to sit on it.

Combeferre’s gaze went a little lower. He swallowed dry again. He never had a need to measure himself, but right now he was glad he had a blanket draped over him. Enjolras was not as wide as Grantaire, but still enough for anyone to moan sensually. All in all, he was long and, with his hairless body, seemed even more massive. It was pink and wet.

Enjolras didn’t wait for anything. He sat Grantaire on his cock. He didn’t wait for his boyfriend to get used to it, grabbing his hips and helping him rise. Grantaire couldn’t even say anything, just opened his mouth and groaned loudly. Enjolras made him sit on his full length, to the roost, and Grantaire whimpered. He put his palms between the back and butt, so that Enjolras got even more room to thrust full into him. His back arched so that Enjolras could kiss him on the chest and bite him on his nipples. He leaned his head back, making strangled noises as if he wanted to cry at any moment.

Combeferre spat into his hand again and began jerk himself a little faster. With his other hand, he stopped supporting the blanket and moved it to his balls. He squeezed them and started playing with them the way he liked it. For a moment he wondered if he would try to touch his ass, at least with the tip of his finger, but he changed his mind, knowing he wasn’t ready for that yet. With a bad touch, he doesn’t want to spoil the great feeling he had. He had never felt such excitement.

Enjolras tilted his head, looking into Grantaire’s face. “Look at me.” Grantaire listened to him and looked into his eyes. “Speak to me.” For the first time since they began to cuddling, this was not a command, but a plea. Enjolras was excited by Grantaire’s voice. Not only thanks to the moans, but to what he could say when he was in  _ heat _ .

“God, that's great, great,  _ great _ ,” Grantaire whispered, trying to look into Enjolras’s face. It didn't work. He had to close his eyes to stop thinking of his beautiful eyes and amazing body; to really relax and only perceive the feeling he gets. “I love it when you are in me, when you are so deep— _ ah _ — no one was so deep. Only you, only you, _ just you _ .” Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hips more and groaned.

_ Finally _ , Combeferre thought. Enjolras was truly silent during lovemaking, except for commands and rapid breathing. But,  _ dear God,  _ his voice was  _ so _ beautiful. It almost sounded like he was singing.

“You're the first, that excites you, right?” Grantaire laughed arrogantly.

Enjolras slapped Grantaire heavily over his butt, and he squeezed inside. They both moaned. “A little respect,” he said breathlessly, and Grantaire nodded. He returned to his more submissive role.

“I want you— _ agh _ —yes, yes,  _ yes _ — I want to keep you in me all the time. For now, for later,  _ forever _ , again, again, again. I can't— _ I don't want _ this to ever end. You are so big, hard,  _ great _ .” Their thrusts accelerated.

Combeferre’s movements, too. He bit his lip so that he didn’t start moaning with them. It was a wonderful sight. Seeing their sweaty bodies rub against each other, their dirty dance of thrusting,  _ the sound of Enjolras’s cock thrusting inside a hot, wet body _ — “I love it, I love when you’re inside me, please, please, never stop, go on. Please, Enjolras, please, please— _ ah _ —please!” This time Enjolras didn’t punished Grantaire for saying his name. He grabbed his neck with his hand and pulled Grantaire at him. He began to kiss him hungrily. He was thrusting alone. Grantaire gave him his entire body.

Combeferre’s movements accelerated precisely to the rhyme of their thrust. His hand was wet. He felt he was thrusting into Grantaire too. He watched as they were connected. The entrance was all red and wet, as Enjolras’s cock, which was suddenly a little nicer. He never looked that close. Not even in porn. He didn’t like it. But here? It was—

“Enjolras, I—”

“Me too.” Grantaire froze, opened his mouth, not making a sound. Only a few seconds later he let out a throat groan and his whole body contracted. He sprayed Enjolras’s stomach and chest with his semen. He tried to breathe as Enjolras hugged him hard and kissed him. He dug his fingers into his hips and thrust for the last time. He groaned high in their connected lips, muted, not to cry out. He stayed deep in Grantaire, not longing to push him away.

Combeferre came with them.

\---

Combeferre was awoken by the sun rays, which tickled his nose and burned his eyes. When he finally woke up, he grunted loudly. His body ached and he felt as if he were sleeping on gravel. He sat down and tried to straighten his aching back. For a moment he just stared into the room, his eyes found the clock. It was half past eleven. He slept all morning. “Damn,” he whispered softly to himself, grumbling again. As he lowered his head, he noticed wet wipes and tissues lying on the table beside him. They weren’t there in the evening. “Damn,” he whispered to himself when he realized someone had put them there for him, because— “Damn,” he said again, putting his head in his hands. All the memories of the night began to return. Enjolras and Grantaire kissing, undressing, satisfying,  _ fucking _ — “Fuck.”

Combeferre was like a body without soul all day. He hid the wipes in the closet and threw the tissues into his room. He took a long, hot shower and scrubbed with a washcloth. He tried to wash away the strange feeling he had every time he remembered something from the evening. He scrubbed his skin to the blood on some places. He found that the shower wouldn’t help him, and he tried to eat. He didn’t like anything. He could only drink two cups of strong, black coffee without sugar and milk. He pulled the blinds as the sun irritated him even more. He was trying to do something, but he wasn’t in the mood for anything. “What’s going on?” He asked himself, hoping to find an answer.

Around five in the afternoon the door opened and both of his roommates come back. They laughed loudly, discussing something he had missed. He sat at the dining table, clutching his cell phone, surfing at social media absently. As Enjolras and Grantaire entered kitchen, he could feel blood running through his head. His face, ears and eyes burned completely. He thought he might cry at any moment. Why? He didn’t know.

“Hi,” Enjolras said with a smile. “Sorry I didn’t write where we were, but Grantaire pulled me to the market this morning to buy fresh food. I met his friend there, Éponine, do you remember her? We’ve seen her before. We had a conversation, went to the café and completely forgot about the time.” Every time Enjolras was excited, he spoke a lot. Grantaire smiled broadly at his conversation. “What’s wrong with you?” Enjolras asked seriously as he set the bags of food on the kitchen line and looked into his best friend’s face. “You’re all red.” He held out his hand to Combeferre and put his hand on his forehead. Combeferre’s heart pounded. “But you’re not warm.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “I'm just tired.”

“It’s called a hangover,” Grantaire laughed, and Combeferre looked at him. Grantaire laughed in his typical smile and looked quite normal. He didn’t look like someone who was watched during sex. “Drink black coffee without sugar, it helps.”

“I already did.” Combeferre tried to smile.

“Don’t you want a soup? Grantaire knows the best mushroom puree I have ever eaten.”

“It’s not that great, he flatters me just because he doesn’t want to cook in his life again.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras said, smiling.

“I’ll try to sleep for some time,” Combeferre said, rising from his seat.

“Have a good rest.”

“We'll call you when dinner is ready,” Grantaire said as he took off his leather jacket and started to preparing all the foods.

Combeferre was lying on his bed looking at the ceiling. Amor lay on his stomach, cheerfully purring and occasionally waved his bushy tail. He tried not to think about anything. But it wasn’t that easy. All his memories kept coming back. Not just from the last night, but from the beginning. From when he first heard them, second, third, first kiss, first video, first porn, first  _ lovemaking _ . All images were mixed together. With every memory he felt more helpless.

Is it possible to continue like this? Not only as roommates but also as friends?

Someone knocked at the door. Combeferre turned his head to the door and heard soft, “The food is ready.” Together they sat down at the table and started eating. Grantaire didn’t shut his mouth and kept talking about Éponine. She found a new job, finally working on her dreams of being a famous comic book artist. She also found a partner, a former bartender Montparnasse, who has a longer extract from the criminal record than from the list of good qualities. “ _ A few little thefts, that doesn't count, do you understand her? _ ” Grantaire was angry at his friend’s thinking. Enjolras listened to him with a smile, occasionally making a comment, but with his eye he kept watching Combeferre, who seemed to be somewhere else. At least their presence forced him to eat half the food.

“It’s amazing, but I’m full already,” Combeferre said truthfully when he was the last to put down the cutlery.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Enjolras asked him cautiously. Combeferre loved food. He rarely don’t finished his plate. He said that the right diet is important for the human body and thus for the human mind.

“Yes, I'm just tired,” Combeferre said, trying to smile. “At least I’ll wash the dishes, so that I’m useful today.”

“Please go to bed, I’ll do it,” Enjolras protested, but by then Grantaire had grabbed his wrist and pulled him back in his chair.

“Let the brave knight do his work when he offers it.”

“You know I’d tell you to wash it, don’t you?”

“Exactly.” Grantaire looked at Combeferre, who took all three plates. “Sorry, but cleaning isn’t exactly my favorite activity.”

“I noticed that,” Enjolras and Combeferre said and they both laughed at it. It has been a long time since they both managed to say the same thing at the same time. Combeferre looked at Enjolras, his eyes glowing. He looked happy.  _ He was happy. _ That helped Combeferre somewhat relieve that nasty pressure in his stomach.

“I’ll take a shower,” Enjolras said, getting up. “Then, coffee for all?” He asked both.

“Only if it’s Irish.”

“No,” he said firmly, and Grantaire stuck his tongue at him.

“I will have one.” Enjolras smiled at Combeferre, nodded, and left.

Combeferre turned to the sink, turned on the water and started to wash the dishes. This has always calmed him. When he could clean or put things on right places. He had the feeling that his rational nature outperformed the emotional one and focused more on all problems. Maybe if he cleaned up everywhere now he might forget—

“So, how did you sleep last night?”—or not.

Combeferre stared at the flowing water for a moment, then asked softly, “You know?”

“Of course I know,” Grantaire snorted. “I have my back burned from your gaze.” Combeferre squeezed his hinges hard and hung his head a little. He had never felt so embarrassed. What was he supposed to tell him? “So, let’s talk about it, or are we going to be lie two little children who deny to tell mother who broke an expensive vase?”

“I do-don't know how to start,” Combeferre admitted.

“Maybe by being gay? I had no idea.”

“I'm not,” Combeferre said, turning off the water. He put the plate in the sink and leaned against it. “Well, I don't know if… if—”

“If you are?” Grantaire asked, and Combeferre just nodded. "Well, if you’re jerking off over two fucking guys, I’d quite say so.”

“But I… I don't want to date a boy. Have a relationship with a boy. Sorry to say it so openly, but the idea of having a relationship with a boy almost irritated me.”

“Are you some fucking homophobes?”

“You know very well I’m not,” Combeferre said in his defense, and Grantaire bit his tongue. This wasn’t nice of him. He knew Combeferre was the first to know Bahorel was gay. And it was him who helped Bahorel to cope with it; to find an apartment right after his parents kicked him out; and who brought him among the Les Ámis because he knew he would find true friends there.

“Sorry, that was stupid,” Grantaire admitted, playing with the tablecloth on the table. “I'm just scared.”

“Why?”

Grantaire was silent. He looked at the tablecloth and quietly asked, “Are you in love with Enjolras?”

Combeferre turned abruptly, his eyes wide, and said firmly, “No.”

“It seems to me,” he said even more quietly.

“No.” Combeferre’s voice was suddenly rougher. “He's like a brother to me.”

“Brother you would fuck with.”

“No,” Combeferre said again, frowning. “Don't say anything like that. It's not true.”

“Then why the camera? Why did you look at us yesterday?” Grantaire finally looked at Combeferre, who was starting to turn red again. “If you’re not into your best bud or suddenly you don’t switch to be attracted by dicks, then why?” He heard his voice rise. He bit his tongue. He didn’t want Enjolras to hear it. He hadn’t told him anything yet. He wanted to know what was happening with Combeferre first.

“I don’t know, do you understand?!” Combeferre cried out defeated, putting his hands on his shoulders. He tilted his head a little and took a deep breath. Shouting was not the way. He had the opportunity to finally discuss it with someone. Everything with one of the  _ main actors _ . It's supposed to help him... “Sorry,” he whispered.

“No, I'm sorry,” Grantaire apologized to him, turning his entire body on Combeferre. He looked into the ground. “Well, let's start from the beginning. Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Are you in love with Enjolras?”

“No.”

“So what’s up?”

“I’m a voyeur.” He felt a huge stone falling from his shoulders. He really felt his whole body relaxed and he could take a deep breath for the first time in months. He suddenly felt free. He almost laughed at the feeling. “Well, I don’t know exactly yet,” he admitted. “But that’s the only explanation for what I’m doing.” He looked at Grantaire, who looked a little surprised. “It started when I heard you and Enjolras once how… how you _do it_. I came home earlier, I didn’t send any message to Enjolras, I heard it, and I ran away. And then, I dreamed about it. So I thought it was just sexual deprivation, I had no girlfriend for a long time. Well, when I was dating Odette, it turned out that the only way to get excited during our kissing was… was… was to think of you two.” His ears were already burning. “It became worse and worse. I knew I didn’t loved Odette, so I broke up with her. I didn’t write to Enjolras when I went home early and maybe stood in the hallway listening to you. I get horny, went to bed, woke up hard and sweaty in the morning…” He paused. He looked at Grantaire’s face. He blinked and urged him to continue. “Well, then I just stopped wanting to hear it. I wanted to see it. So, I found porn. I accidentally started watching gay porn.” Grantaire chuckled at the word “accidentally”, and Combeferre smiled defeatedly. Grantaire pantomime indicated that he was zipping his lips and urged him to speak again. “I started to look at one pair. Which… which was similar to you both. Lots of. I mean, thanks yesterday, I know not so much,” he laughed to lighten the atmosphere a bit. Grantaire just slightly raised the corners of his mouth. “Then I wanted more. To see you _really_. See if I’m really just a voyeur who needs to see you live. That’s why the camera.” He paused. “But I saw little, sometimes nothing actually, I installed it wrong.”

“That sounded pretty sad,” Grantaire said, his eyebrows raised.

Combeferre didn’t answer. “So, yesterday, I saw you for the first time.” He looked at Grantaire and waited for his “ _ And for the last time” _ . But Grantaire also remained silent. “Thanks,” he whispered, wanting to get back to his work.

“That’s it?” Combeferre nodded. “Okay, let me speak for a moment, Foureyes.” Combeferre just sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to excuse the nickname. “When I met Enjolras, I didn’t like him. He was pretty, like, fuck, I have eyes? But he was a typical rich guy who feels the need to tell us, poor mortals, how fucked up our lives are. Well, after half a year I found out that I liked him because – who wouldn’t like him because of his character?” Enjolras was alway cold and little distant at beginning, but when he get comfortable around someone, he was gentle, at some times even funny and most of – he will do everything for his close friends. “Do you remember the New Year’s party at Bossuet? We all kissed, drunk as hell, under mistletoe. And _it_ happened. Enjolras kissed me and boom – I fell in love. Skipping my embarrassing attempts to get him, that’s really pathetic and embarrassing; well, just when we got together it was like a dream. For two hours. Before I realized – why would someone like him wanted to be with someone like me?” Combeferre looked at Grantaire and frowned a little. “Look at me. Like, at least I’m worth the look now. But I drink a lot all the time, I’m not exactly a favorite person of literally every person around me, I actually kind of live with booze my fairytale dream of a prince coming and taking me to make me his queen and suddenly made me happy by it. Which kind of happened now, but I’m still looking for a trap. Even after a year and a half since we’re together. Because I am quite punished by all my exes.”

“Enjolras mentioned,” Combeferre said, remembering their conversation on the balcony.

“Did he mention that I’m jealous and possessive?”

“Just a little jealous.”

Grantaire snorted and laughed. “He's too good to me. I’m a jealous, possessive pig. Write it down. So when Enjolras came up with that his best friend – yes, you,  _ my dear _ – somehow disagreed with our relationship, he was pretty down for a long time. And I started to treat you as someone who could take him from me. Don’t act too surprised, but I didn’t loved you back then.”

“What?” Combeferre asked in surprise. Grantaire just nodded. “How long?”

“Too much, I would say. You didn’t do anything wrong – this did.” He tapped his finger on his head. “I didn’t loved you, then I hated you, then I liked you again – when you started dating Odette – then didn’t like you too much after your breakup and when I found the camera… Wow, really good!” He lifted his thumb up and sighed. “Do you know what I thought first?”

“No?”

“That Enjolras is cheating on me. With you.” Combeferre froze. Before he could say anything, Grantaire started talking again. “I know –  _ crap _ – but as you lay there in those underpants and the photo… I just stressed out. All the time. The relationship with him is great – well,  _ awesome,  _ if I must be real – but the people around me piss me of.” They both laughed. “Actually, now that you told me you aren’t gay or you aren’t in love with my boyfriend, you calmed me down a little. But still, still... I still don’t understand that you want to look at us. I think about how you’re looking at his body. He’s beautiful, isn’t he? And you didn’t saw everything. And I don’t even want you to see. He’s really good in bed, like, anyone should try. But I—”

“You have a beautiful voice.”

Grantaire paused. “What again?”

“You have a beautiful voice,” he repeated. “And the body. Like, that tattoo. Wow. I didn’t even saw anything so precise. Not only live, but also in the photos. You really got in shape. You have nice biceps and a fairly toned neck as you still bend him in orgasms.” Grantaire rolled his eyes and blushed. Combeferre cleared his throat and continued, “You’re saying interesting things. During… during  _ sex _ . Occasionally new and undiscovered for me. I never thought that when someone – hmm – expressed how he likes it, it could be so… sexy.” Grantaire swallowed dry. Combeferre smiled and added. “See, it’s not just Enjolras. But also about you. True, it excites me. Hear you, see you – God, yesterday…” His forehead was completely dewed. He had to wipe it with his palm. “But if it was just you or him? No. I... I like that it’s you two. I’m not in love with either of you, I know that. But you’re helping me. I admire your love, and that drives me to—” They both heard the water turn off. Combeferre paused, and Grantaire rose from his seat. “If it makes sense.”

Grantaire smiled at him. “It does. Not for me, because this is not my kink. But I know what it’s like when you really need something, and it’s the only way to work normally again.”

“Exactly,” Combeferre said in surprise as Grantaire summed it up so simply.

They were both silent for a moment as Grantaire suddenly raised his hands, scratched his hair, and said in a joyful voice, “I’m glad we talked and cleaned the air a little, don’t ya think?”

“Yes,” Combeferre said, smiling at him.

“I won't say anything to Enjolras. I will leave the pleasure to you.”

Combeferre exhaled deeply and loudly. “Thank you.”

“You know you’ll have to tell him one day.”

“I know it will be right from me.”

Grantaire just nodded and left the room to go back to Enjolras. Combeferre returned to washing dishes. “Yeah, one more thing,” Grantaire said as he returned to the kitchen. Combeferre didn’t turn to him, just grunted to indicate that he was listening. “Before you take your balls to tell him, Enjolras has a civil law exam tomorrow. He’s stressed about it for two months already. Doesn’t matter if he do it or not, when he gets back, I’ll have a long, hot, bubble bath with him before lunch. There’s no window in your bathroom, so I’ll have to leave the door open to prevent mold or choking us from hot air. Yeah, well, just so you know.” With that Grantaire went to Enjolras, who was just out of the bathroom.

Combeferre smiled to himself.

He definitely knows what he’ll do before lunch tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [2WNikiAngel](http://www.2wnikiangel.tumblr.com).


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